Light From Shadows
by Vlonlin
Summary: The story of Pellanistra Despana, this is part of the history for that particular house and also a somewhat experimental writing. T for now, though this may change. See the Author's Note for more detail. Finally up and going again.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: I do not like this prologue, and I am inclined to replace it. Also, the characters are all my own, near and dear to my heart. I started this as history for the House that has become my pet project, but it's taken on a life of its own. I endeavor to show the drow as a wider spectrum of individuals—it's ridiculous in my mind to claim all drow are either completely and irredeemably evil or a Drizzt Do'Urden. Thus, plenty of the characters may fall well into the middle ground. Don't get snappy at me for making them too "soft". I guarantee you, there will be evil characters as well as semi-good ones.**

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"Matron Jysfryn, you requested my presence?" the House Wizard asked. The human sage standing beside the other visiting dignitaries was astonished. For a drow to show such age meant he was ancient indeed.

"Vornas," the young Matron said, delighted. She held out a hand to him, which he cupped and kissed accordingly. "Yes, I wished to speak with you. Have you been able to recover all of those records my great-grandmother ordered destroyed?"

The wizard's gnarled hands moved themselves back to his staff. "She was very thorough, Matron. Some of the ledgers and histories that Matron Mayna commissioned or that entailed her reign may never be recovered, I fear."

"A pity. I should have liked to study her more. A fascinating ancestor indeed," Jysfryn said with a touch of disappointment. She turned to her guests, a very odd picture beside the elderly male. "May I present to all of you our House Wizard, Vornas Despana."

Jysfryn was young indeed to be Matron, barely seventy. She still had a long life ahead of her, if the Goddess was kind, and was as radiant as ever. All of her movements were energetic, vibrant with animation. The small group of foreigners—two humans, a dwarf, a half-elf, a svirfneblin, and a tiefling—were not entirely sure how to react. Jysfryn did not only seem alive, she seemed to be genuinely enjoying every minute of it.

And then there was this wizard, Vornas. Deep lines creased his face, especially the brow above two deep set, glittering steel eyes. His neatly trimmed goatee and long hair, once a rich ivory color, had turned a washed-out gray with age. His frame had thinned to the point of gauntness over the long years, shoulders stooped from endless days of pouring over dusty tomes in search of answers. His worn face was set in grim determination, and the visitors guessed that he was still a potent wizard, perhaps even an arch mage, to still be alive and valued by the House.

"With all do respect, Wizard Vornas, how old are you?" the tiefling said suddenly, cocking his handsome head and observing the aged drow with a hint of amusement in the burning red orbs he called eyes. He suspected Vornas held more power than just being a wizard—an advisor, perhaps?

"I have seen six hundred and fourteen years, Lord Themos Eath'en. Not once in them thus far have I permitted a surface dweller to patronize me, and I do not expect to begin now," Vornas said, his voice deep and surprisingly rich. Matron Jysfryn smiled at the House Wizard's blunt response—such frankness was one of the things that made him so useful to her. And it was endearing, after listening to priestesses twist words all day in an effort to gain her favor.

The tiefling, Themos, was obviously a bit affronted at such a response but fascinated as well. Surface sages had always assumed that the drow optimum lifespan was around five centuries, and yet here was an example of them living even longer. It was the half-elf woman, Lady Náriel of Stormfell, who gave voice to these thoughts. "Master Vornas, I thought that drow could not live that long."

The wizard snorted. "Most drow do not live through their first century. But you are correct in a sense—those who survive to five centuries have often outlived their usefulness and lost the ability to hold their many enemies and rivals at bay. Those that do not die fighting Lolth's enemies or kill themselves end up on the goddess's altar almost every time. However, the Matrons of House Despana have been quite generous and seem to have found uses for me, thus I endure where others have perished," Vornas said.

"I would be hard pressed to lose the most powerful arch mage Yvoth-Lened has ever seen," Matron Jysfryn said.

"Such flattery is undeserved, I assure you," the ancient male drow informed them, waving a gnarled hand dismissively before directing his attention to his sister's descendant. "However enjoyable meeting your guests is, Matron Jysfryn, I do have something I hoped to tell you."

"By all means," the female drow said. "What matter was on your mind?"

"I have found a record that was hidden during the Purging that dates from the middle section of Mayna's reign," Vornas said. "Even your guests might find it of interest."

"Speak plainly," Jysfryn said, but without the frown or threatening tone most Matrons would adopt.

"It appears to be the only complete and detailed account of the Circlet of Heroes and its original owner. I understand she has a great deal of renown on the surface as well as in the Under Dark," the wizard said in Common. "Penned by Alaundriira Drada'Dalharil, Statha Tellanthur d' Qu'ellar Despana."

The dignitaries and the Matron both gazed at him with a reverential hush for a long while. It was Jysfryn who finally broke the silence. "You found her story?" the drowess said, shocked.

Vornas smiled slightly. "So it would appear."


	2. A Legacy of Eyes

"It was a streak of fire across the sky in the surface realm. We thought it was a spell at first, but Yasmur'ss determined there was no residual casting magic," Tebatar reported, standing at his sister's side.

"This is...interesting," the Patron said, deep voice silky in the hall's still air. He steepled his fingers pensively, lounging in his seat beside the Matron's vacant throne. "And how did your Blooding go?"

Yasmur'ss allowed herself a rare, malicious smile. "Excellent, Patron. The hearts of our quarry decorate Lolth's altar in the Chapel of Reverence as we speak," she said.

Malagzar regarded his eldest daughter with a mixture of disdain and distaste, hidden in his impassive crimson eyes. "It would seem your quest was not without its mishaps. You have returned without Masrak, I see."

The female did her best to make her face and voice contrite. "The surface world is dangerous indeed. Our brother was not, it seems, prepared for it. We left his bones to bleach in the sun—why bring them back?"

_Very cunning, daughter, very cunning. Masrak must have been so caught up in his hunt that he forgot to watch you. Now Tebatar will be House Captain, and you have rid yourself of Mayna's most loyal son. Maybe this new one will last as long as Vornas and Zezdrin have. _Outwardly, the Patron was perfectly calm. "The Matron will not be pleased with this development, I think."

"And we can add it to the very long list of things she isn't pleased with. Now, where is Matron Mayna to be found?"

"She is...indisposed of at present. Yasmur'ss, I would suggest you join your sisters in attending to her," Malagzar said. He raised an eyebrow at the female's expression of bewilderment. "Did Masrak fail to inform you that we were expecting another male child?"

"It would appear so," Yasmur'ss gritted out. She despised being uninformed, but it was unthinkable that she be unaware of something so important.

"Hurry, then. Tebatar, you are to join your brothers in the Weapons Gym. I will be with you shortly," Malagzar said. He accompanied his fuming daughter in her walk to the Greater Chapel.

Mayna lay before the altar of Lolth in the chapel, wild-eyed and panting from pain. Her other female children were there, trying to assist as best they could but frequently being snapped at by their mother. The Patron had to admire the Matron's self control now, however. She wasn't screaming or making any such noise of agony, forcing herself just to push. "How goes it?" he whispered in the ear of his third daughter, T'risskacha.

The beautiful young drowess winced as Mayna's hand clenched around her own. "The worst should be over soon," she said, gritting her teeth against pain. "Although she might break my fingers."

He smiled for a moment, though the expression vanished when the Matron's hand released T'risskacha and seized him by the front of his shirt, pulling his face down near hers. "Don't you dare smirk, Malagzar!" Mayna snarled, lifting her head. "You did this to me!"

"And I don't recall a complaint at the time. It's almost over, Matron, calm yourself," he said smoothly. Her retort turned into an almost animal cry of pain. The process went much faster after that point, however, and soon the child had fully emerged. Mayna relaxed, her eyes almost rolling back into her head.

The Patron felt apprehensive. He had heard no cry, no sound from the new child at all. Was it alive and well? He glanced over to see Yasmur'ss looking down at the child she was holding, stunned. "Matron," she said, her voice hoarse with urgency. "Matron!"

Her siblings and Malagzar all stared now, curious as to what madness had suddenly possessed her. Mayna lifted her head, dazed expression gone. She was exhausted, and less than pleased by being disturbed. "What?" the cleric snapped, glaring at her eldest daughter.

"It's a girl," she said, voice hushed.

"Malagzar, T'risskacha, help me sit up," Mayna ground out. Sabafae had moved to her older sister's side to verify this startling announcement. "Well?"

"Despana has a new daughter, Mother," Sabafae confirmed reluctantly. "Vornas and the Patron have obviously erred."

"Let me see her," the Matron said, too pleased to be angry about the failed spell or even Sabafae's familiarity. Her eldest daughter obediently handed over the child.

Mayna was surprised at how utterly calm this new daughter looked, gazing up at her mother quietly with strange, silvery-blue eyes. "Interesting. She isn't afraid at all. A brave little one," the Matron said, brushing her fingertip against the child's palm. For being something so small and vulnerable, she didn't seem at all intimidated, her tiny hand closing around her mother's index finger.

"Are you going to name her, Matron?" Yasmur'ss asked, her tone suggesting that she already expected a no. The eldest girl had named most of her younger siblings, and expected this one to be no different.

"Yes," Mayna said with sudden clarity, the name coming to her as if divinely inspired. "Her name is Pellanistra."

Malagzar lifted one eyebrow. _The greatest among drow heroines...Mayna must expect much of this new child. How curious. _He looked over at the three young female drow gathered together. It appeared the significance of the name was not lost on them—Sabafae was fuming, Yasmur'ss silently standing by while her mind set about busily evaluating whether this new daughter was a threat or potential tool, and T'risskacha was smiling.

He frowned slightly at his third daughter, unsettled by her reaction. He was never entirely certain what T'risskacha was thinking, or even whether she was the simple-minded fighter everyone claimed. The Patron guessed that she was just as intelligent as her oldest sister, and much, much more dangerous. _One to be watched._

"Sabafae," Mayna said, interrupting his thoughts. "You're taking her."

"But Mother—" the priestess began in protest.

"That is the second time in ten minutes you have called me 'Mother'," Mayna said icily. Sabafae felt her blood run cold at the tone. "That was not a request, it was an order. I expect commands to be obeyed, not debated."

"Yes, Matron," Sabafae said, taking the child.

"Go now," Mayna said curtly. The priestess-in-training did as she was told, scowling as soon as her back was to her mother.

"Did you see her eyes?" T'risskacha murmured in her sister's ear.

"I did," Yasmur'ss answered.

"It's hard enough to believe the Matron would take another lover, but I've never seen anyone with eyes that color."

Her stony eyes focused on T'risskacha. "Do you not remember your history?"

"Then we are in a great deal of trouble," the warrior said, almost hypnotized by her sister's gaze. Those gray-black eyes—the color of dark stone that has never seen the light of day—seemed flat, shifty, and not quite natural. They were impenetrable, giving nothing but the reflection of those who looked into them. Most found it difficult not to lean in deeper, just to see themselves more clearly. T'risskacha had no fondness for her sister's eyes, unnerved by the odd magnetism they possessed.

Yasmur'ss snorted. "Don't be a fool. They're just a mutation that crops up at random in our family. It hasn't been seen for over a thousand years. Rare, that's all."

"The last one of our family who had those eyes was Matron Mother Zilthae, the woman who slew an elder brain and destroyed an entire mind flayer city. Before her it was T'risse the Mercenary Queen, before T'risse was Alyaere, favored soul of Lolth who survived even on the surface, and before Alyaere was Shelav, who we all know very well," T'risskacha said, unsmiling. "Don't tell me it's coincidence."

"Superstition," Yasmur'ss said. "Besides, she's not going to live to prove that perilous. Don't you have duties to attend to?"

T'risskacha smiled, but not in her voice. "Why thank you for reminding me, sister," the warrior said. She inclined her head respectfully to her father and the Matron, then turned on her heel and strode out. Zezdrin was waiting in the hall, leaning against the wall with the lounging grace of a panther.

"The child is female," he said. "That throws things into disarray."

"Quite," T'risskacha agreed. "Our siblings already see her as a rival, I think. Perhaps not Vornas—he's perceptive and knowledgeable. She has the eyes."

Zezdrin fell in step beside her, prowling down the hall. "Then Yasmur'ss cannot be allowed to kill her," he said. "Our house needs a savior."

"Again, we are in accord," T'risskacha said. Zezdrin was a little surprised that his sister was so willing to hand over the reins to another. She glanced at him and seemed to read his thoughts in his expression. "I am a warrior, Zez, not a cleric. I can never become Matron, but I can choose who I wish to serve. I think I would rather bend a knee to our new sister than Yasmur'ss and Sabafae, especially if I mold her how I wish—teaching her to appreciate fighters sounds like a very good place to begin."

"You're far more sly than our sisters give you credit for," the Weapons Master said, regarding his twin with affectionate respect.


	3. Playing Favorites

"Ah, Vornas, what impeccable timing," Mayna said, looking up from the book she had been reading. The Matron was not seated in the large stone throne at one end of the hall, but stretched out on a broad ledge by an enchanted mirror that served as a window. She liked it for the view out over the courtyard. "I was considering sending for you."

He bowed respectfully, carefully not mentioning that his presence had little to do with good timing and more to do with avoiding Sabafae's temper. "And in what manner can I serve you, Matron?"

She closed her book shut with a crisp snap and sat up a little. "As you know, Vicryn met a rather messy and unpleasant fate at the hands of one of his summoned creatures about eight hours ago. Not only does this mean we have blood spattered across some exceedingly nice stonework and there's an awful smell in the Wizards' Quarter, but we are regrettably short a House Wizard."

"Did you wish for me to arrange for a replacement, announce your decision as to that, or get some slaves to work on cleaning it up?"

"All of this has been dealt with. I merely wished to inform you of the choice I made personally," the Matron said.

"And that would be?" Vornas asked, his eyes studying the floor closely so he didn't look up into her gaze—his sisters had been very thorough in his education. He was fairly sure he could detect a hint of amusement in his mother's voice, and it put him ill at ease. Mayna was less violent, cruel, and sadistic than other Matrons, though that was saying little, but she had her moments.

"Interestingly enough, I found that you were the best suited."

"Matron?" he said, eyes blinking with incredulity. The shock still wasn't enough, however, to move his gaze.

"Nadoj has taught you well. You're a talented, capable wizard. And yet, you manage to retain some common sense. That being said, your ego doesn't motivate you into foolish deals that will end with your blood all over my stonework. I suggest you learn all that can be gleaned from Vicryn's notes and books. When you have completed that task, I will arrange for you attendance of Sorcere to further your education."

"Thank you, Matron," he managed.

"You may now take your leave," his mother said, waving a hand dismissively and opening her book again. The wizard wandered off with a glazed look on his face, too stunned to actually care where he ended up. Eventually his feet would carry him to his workshop, where he had promised to meet his siblings later.

Her youngest daughter moved out from behind one of the slender pillars that supported the ceiling with their vaulting arches high above, taking a seat besides her mother. Mayna let out a sigh, turning her head to regard her daughter and reflecting that she had grown very quickly in thirteen years, in more ways than one. "Be glad you aren't Matron. Seems more effort than it's worth."

"Matron?"

"No matter," the Matron said. She laid her book aside once more, too distracted to continue reading it and looked gravely at her youngest daughter. "Pellanistra, have you finished your lessons?"

"Sabafae left," the girl said evasively, silver-blue eyes darting down to gaze at the floor. The flagstones had suddenly become fascinating. "I didn't think she would mind."

Mayna couldn't restrain a fond smile. She could recall doing the exact same thing in her youth when duties had called her own sister away. "Go back to your lessons," she said with surprising gentleness. "Or how are you going to learn anything?"

"I already know the history," the young drowess said, keeping the defiance in her tone subtle. It did not escape her mother's notice however. "And Sabafae just seems to repeat herself. I can only stand a rant so many times."

"Very well," the Matron said indulgently. The older drowess brushed some of Pellanistra's silvery hair out of her face. "Why don't you go pester Zezdrin into teaching you? I know you've been learning how to play Shelza Ir from him."

The girl looked up almost shyly into her mother's eyes—she was the only one of the Matron's daughters that had been granted that privilege from birth. "And you're not upset, Matron?" she said.

"To the contrary. It seems a very good way for a young female to spend her time. I have to command an army myself, after all," Mayna said lightly. "Go on, then."

"Yes, Matron," the girl said, springing up and dashing off across the hall. Mayna just smiled before looking over at her book.

"I don't think I'll ever get around to finishing it."

"Has it struck you as unwise to so openly favor some of your children above the others?" a handsome male asked as he detached himself from the shadows and sat down.

Mayna rolled onto her back and looked up into the familiar crimson eyes. They gazed down at her from the Patron's aquiline features with an amazing amount of tenderness. "Perhaps," she said with a touch of whimsy in her tone that surprised him.

"Why these three?"

"I have my reasons."

"And would you care to share them, Matron?"

"Very well, then," the cleric said. She held up one finger. "Zezdrin has proven himself capable and exceedingly useful. He doesn't question my decisions pointlessly, but he stops me from doing something I'll regret later. That's why you're still alive after all—our son had the good grace to intercede on your behalf."

"Logical."

The drowess held up a second finger. "T'risskacha is intelligent and gives exceptional advice. She is also a competent, successful leader with a knack for controlling and uniting our soldiers. If she had been a cleric, I would have groomed her to be Matron after me. She doesn't waste my time with stupid questions."

"And Pellanistra?" the Patron probed.

The Matron said nothing in response to his question, gazing up at him quietly. Her eyes didn't focus on his, roaming aimlessly about his face.

"It's interesting that you can justify it when you favor Zezdrin and T'risskacha, but not Pellanistra. She's obviously your favorite. Is it because she's the most like you?"

"Well, there is that," Mayna conceded. "But no, that's not my primary reason."

"Then what is it?"

"Sabafae, Talra, Vornas, and Tebatar are always at each other's throats, bickering and snapping endlessly. I never get a moment's peace around them. When they do calm enough to talk all I hear is the same garbage I was force fed by my sisters and the teachers at Arach-Tinilith or the nonsense from Melee-Magthere and Sorcere. I'm tired of it. And Yasmur'ss I have to watch. She's a consummate schemer, and I know the only thing she is loyal to is her own interests. She craves power, and my position. Every word in her presence I utter must be considered carefully, never a hint of weakness shown for fear she'll use it."

Mayna sighed softly, but Malagzar pressed his inquiry. "Pellanistra?"

"She...trusts me, she's loyal. Around her I don't have to worry about what I say as long as I ask her to keep it in confidence. And it's enjoyable to be in the company of someone you never have to worry about impressing or pleasing. That is why I'm so fond of Pellanistra."

The Patron regarded her impassively. "I hope nothing ill comes of your favoritism."

"I doubt that my youngest daughter will a cause worthy of cooperation between them," the Matron said, letting her eyelids droop half-closed. "Yasmur'ss is smart enough to try, but Talra and Sabafae regard each other with a loathing so strong I doubt it's possible."

"I have found female drow to be capable of almost anything when they're jealous and hateful enough," Malagzar said. "Up to and including cooperation."


	4. Sibling Rivalry

"Sabafae, could you possibly be a little louder? I'm sure there's some deaf orc out patrolling the city walls who hasn't heard your screeching," the bearded male drow said irritably, glancing up from his book. Vornas was the only one of the Matron's sons who could grow facial hair and was quite pleased with that, wearing it in a neat goatee.

"Want to say that again, brother?" the high priestess said savagely, leaning across the low, cluttered table and hauling him up by the front of his wizardly robes. Scrolls and books went sliding to the floor in a symphony of cracking paper and dull thumps.

"Both of you, be quiet. I can't hear myself think."

The priestess released Vornas reluctantly, turning to look at her oldest sister in response. The stony visage of Yasmur'ss was as unreadable as always. Her gray eyes never left the stolen surface elf tapestry on the wall. It's rich colors were invisible in darkvision, but she still traced each flowing figure and letter with her eyes. Tebatar and T'risskacha waited in silence for her to speak, concentrating their efforts on striving vainly to divine her thoughts through her movements.

The silence shattered as Sabafae spoke, a hint of rebellion in her voice. "Well, what are we going to do then? I'm not going to sit quietly while the Matron heaps praise on that little brat."

"You will endure it, as we all will," Yasmur'ss said bluntly. "T'risskacha and Talra both do. I do. We cannot act directly."

"Craven, all of you!" Sabafae challenged scathingly. "You fear our mother's wrath. So this is the fine, noble blood of our House in action. What are we to do then, sit and rot?"

"We wait," T'risskacha said with a genial smile, malice glittering in her eyes. Her tone was honey-sweet, despite the hatred that burned in the younger drowess's heart. "When the moment is right, we act. And you, Sabafae, those who call me a coward do not often live to appreciate the magnitude of their error."

"Hmph. That's all you and Yasmur'ss can do—wait. What good will waiting do us? You can keep your plans for yourselves!" The high priestess turned on her heel and strode out, the serpentine heads of her whip writhing on her belt to express their mistress's displeasure.

Vornas looked to his eldest sister, who had yet to speak again. Tebatar and T'risskacha did the same—they knew Yasmur'ss, regarding her with a healthy respect born of fear, though they would hardly admit it. She did not seem to have the black temper that characterized Despana's nobles, planning with an icy and thoroughly ruthless calculation that terrified her siblings.

The workshop was filled with spiders, the creatures crawling across the wall and ceiling alike. The drowess reached out, permitting one to step onto her fingers. She brought it close to her lips, whispering something to it and gently stroking its back with the index finger of her other hand. "Sabafae will be the first to make a mistake," she said, eyes still on the spider. "After that—if she lives—she will listen."

"How do we know your plan will work?" her brother asked as his sister turned her eyes to the gossamer webs and their inhabitants, lost in contemplation. It was a moment before she seemed to even acknowledge she had been spoken to.

"Here is your answer. The oldest spiders are the most cunning of weavers—it is they who catch the most flies. We must all return to our studies and duties now. Tebatar will need to try and talk Zezdrin around to our side."

"Or I could," T'risskacha offered.

"I think a female drow approaching him with the offer would dull his interest quite quickly," Tebatar said. "He hates being used as a tool in your infighting."

"Very well," Despana's third daughter said, flashing them both a smile. The others couldn't shake the feeling that it was genuine—a frightening concept. "I take my leave, then."

"She's up to something," Vornas said after a moment's pause.

"Yes, I believe she is," Yasmur'ss replied thoughtfully. "We'll just have to wait and see what."

* * *

T'risskacha stepped into the lesser training gym, humming thoughtfully. The floor was smooth and flat fitted stone at present—the spell to coax it into imitating the natural terrain of Yvoth-Lened's nearby tunnels and caverns was dormant at present. Her footfalls echoed softly in the large room as she padded over to her door and pulled it open. The female warrior loved her chambers, a gift from the Matron when she graduated from Melee-Magthere at the top of her class. They were private and removed from the bustle of the rest of the House, an island of calm and serenity in the midst of the chaotic politics and business that made up her world.

The main room was fairly plain compared to those of her sisters—there were only a few hangings on the walls, tapestries depicting scenes from history, the greatness of Lolth, and a lineage of her family that seemed there just to cover bare stone. Shelves stood against one wall, so closely stacked with history books and treatises on warfare not even a spider could slip between.

She almost cringed at the thought—the warrior had the appropriate amount of reverence for the arachnids, but no great love for them beyond that. She had been bitten too often as a child in her eldest sister's chambers. T'risskacha padded in across the woven rugs covering the stone floor, letting her fingers trail across the unmarked spines of some leather bound journals.

If the priestesses ever learned that they existed, those precious books would be destroyed. And the warrior was more than aware that the penalty for possessing them was harsh. Yet, they stayed, and no cleric had set foot in her rooms since they had been given to her—a state she dearly hoped they would remain in.

There was a clattering sound from her bedchamber, setting the noble on high alert. T'risskacha drew saber and stalked in, blade at the ready. The bed was undisturbed, spider silk blankets and sheets still perfectly smooth. She narrowed her crimson eyes, feeling along shelves for her clothes and personal items in search of any traps or magical triggers. Her experience with assassins had left her cautious indeed.

There was a twitch of movement behind one of the curtains shrouding her enchanted window. T'risskacha raised an eyebrow. _A bit obvious..._

The warrior sprang with a war scream that could freeze blood in the veins of foes, saber hissing through the air and slicing through the heavy fabric above her intruder's head, then whipping around to stop just short of parting their head from their shoulders. "Pellanistra!"

Wide silver-blue eyes stared up into hers, terrified. "I-I-I d-didn't m-m-mean t-t-to," the girl stammered out.

T'risskacha blew a sigh. "You idiot," she said softly enough to take away the words' sting, sheathing her saber and crouching down so she was a little shorter than her sister. "I could have killed you."

"I-I thought y-y-you w-were Sabafae," the girl said, trying to stop stuttering.

"Why is she looking for you?" T'risskacha asked, taking both of her sister's hands in her own. The girl looked so small and fragile the warrior had trouble understanding how Yasmur'ss saw her as a threat.

"She's angry," Pellanistra said softly. "I don't know why, but—"

"I do," the warrior replied grimly, standing up. She was a little ashamed of the girl for fleeing. "You can't hide from her forever, little one. You have to fight your own battles sometime."

"I think I did," the young drowess said softly. "I was going to say I made it worse."

"Worse?" T'risskacha echoed. The question in her voice did not escape her sister, but they were interrupted before Pellanistra could explain.

"Where is she?" Sabafae shrieked, the doors of the lesser weapons gym slamming open. "I'll snap her neck!"

"What did you do?" the warrior hissed.

"She tried to kill me, and I grabbed the dagger from her belt and fought back like you taught me to."

T'risskacha poked her head out of her bedchamber, then lead her sister out into the main room. "Maybe we can find you a hiding place somewhere," she murmured, casting about for a good place.

Despana's second daughter slammed her way in, blood dripping down from the gash across her face. "You little elg'caress!"

T'risskacha barreled forward into her older sister as she lunged with the knife. Sabafae was bigger and stronger, but not nearly as fast. However, the warrior was in the altogether bad position of having no blade in her hands to bring to bear against Sabafae's dagger. The weapon sliced across T'risskacha's forearm as she forced it out and away from her body. "Pell—" the warrior choked out, Sabafae's hand closing around her throat. Her vision swam as her lungs fought for breath, only to have their labors unrewarded. _I'm going to die..._

The girl shoved, throwing Sabafae off T'risskacha. The priestess managed to snatch hold of her sleeve, tugging her youngest sister after her and thrusting the knife upward. Pellanistra twisted her body mostly out of the way as she fell, the weapon drawing a burning line along her ribcage. Ignoring the pain and the wet feeling on her side, the girl fought like a wildcat with Sabafae, though to little avail. Meanwhile, the warrior's vision was slowly returning as she rubbed life back into her throat.

The priestess snarled and struck her away after a few moments, though that was plenty of time for Pellanistra's fingernails to leave several sets of tracks across her face. The younger drowess groped about for something to use to defend T'risskacha as the priestess rose and stalked towards the offending fighter, and seized a bag that had been knocked off the table. It felt fairly heavy, and she could hear the faint clacking sounds of ceramic beads.

A warning bell went off in Pellanistra's head, but the drowess jumped up and swung it in a vicious arc. Hideous light filled her world, searing her eyes into blindness as forty daylight beads all shattered in unison.

There was nothing but white...

And then pain.


	5. First Practice to Deceive

Pellanistra slowly came to wakefulness, her pulse throbbing in her temples. There was a damp cloth on her eyes to cool the burning sensation, water running down from the corner of one eye to drip onto a pillow. A sudden burst of cold ran down her spine, and she shivered violently. Someone tucked the sheets more firmly around her, sending waves of soft scent over the girl—oil used for cleaning armor and weapons, strong soap, and beneath it all the person's smell. _Zezdrin's bed? How did I get here?_

"Oh, for the Goddess's sake, Zezdrin. One would think you've turned into a surface elf while we weren't looking," a voice said, cool and even. It sounded distinctly female, and Pellanistra felt her curiosity piqued. She had never heard this person speak before, and yet they knew Zezdrin. She feigned sleep, listening intently.

"I'm sorry, I thought you wanted her to stay asleep," her brother responded irritably.

"Why can't we just kill her now, while she's dozing?" a very different female voice demanded. _Definitely Sabafae._

"Do you want to be stabbed again?" another familiar person said, obviously closer to the bed. She could almost hear the bristle in T'risskacha's voice, and caught the distinct sound of a sword being eased out of its sheath.

"Hush, both of you," the first speaker said. They moved very, very close to Pellanistra, bending down over her and continuing in a whisper. "We wouldn't want to wake her up."

The young drowess had no problem staying still now—fear had fixed her in place. Dizzying smells curled cloyingly in her nose, only a few out of dozens recognizable: the subtle, exotic incense that she had only ever smelled on the Matron before...a hint of perfume to cover the acrid smell of something Pellanistra didn't recall the identity of...the faint smell of lichen wine...

"Leave her alone, Yasmur'ss," Zezdrin said warningly.

Pellanistra almost sat up and ripped the cloth off her eyes just so she could see the sister she had only heard of. It was the first time she realized how isolated she had been from her family—in her life thus far, the only other drow she had ever encountered were T'risskacha, Zezdrin, the Matron, Sabafae, and some of the soldiers under her sister's command. She had vaguely known that there were other siblings, but they existed barely on the periphery of her life.

And yet, she was well and truly afraid of this newly encountered sister. It was something she couldn't quite identify. The person moved away, and she felt a weight on the edge of the bed closest to her, and on the opposite side from where the rest of the people were talking. A hand almost clumsily brushed her hair out of her face. She knew it was Zezdrin. _Even he doesn't know I'm awake. Or does he?_

"Are you willing to cooperate with us now, Sabafae? The direct approach certainly hasn't got you far," a strange male voice said.

"Fine," the priestess said sourly. "Although the lot of you haven't had much more luck with Yasmur'ss's little scheme."

"There I'm afraid you're very much in the wrong," Yasmur'ss said. "It's going exactly as anticipated."

"I think you omitted T'risskacha's weakness in your plotting, sister. She's the one that came to the brat's defense," Sabafae said.

There was a snarl from by the wall, and a clattering sound as something was dropped or knocked over. "Vornas, perhaps immobilizing T'risskacha for a moment would be advisable. She needs to regain her temper," the male voice said, a bit more strained than the last time it had spoken.

"All I want to do is disembowel her!" Mayna's third daughter growled. This phrase was accompanied by the sound of a blow. This was just a fraction of a second before a pained groan and a muffled curse from whatever male was holding her back.

"Hurry," the male wheezed.

"Of course, Tebatar, I live to serve," a deeper, resonant voice said dryly. Vornas chanted a brief arcane phrase, effectively fixing T'risskacha in place.

There were a couple moments of quiet, and Pellanistra almost smiled to hear deep, calming breaths coming from her favorite sister. She could imagine the look of murderous rage in T'risskacha's eyes and the working of jaw muscles as the warrior struggled to bring her temper under control.

"I'm done. Now release me," she said finally.

"And you won't gut Sabafae or kick our brother in the groin again?" Yasmur'ss said with just a touch of amusement.

"I'll do my best."

Pellanistra focused on imagining the scene in her head to stop herself from giggling. Sabafae would be standing near the door, back against the wall with her arms crossed in front of her chest and a surly expression on her face. Zezdrin was sitting on the bed still, hands smoothing out the sheets absently. His face would be as impassive as ever, she decided.

From the sound of movement and breathing, T'risskacha had moved back over to the window. Her face would be as fathomless as her twin's, anger and resentment smoldering in her eyes. The new three she didn't know enough about to place except that she thought Yasmur'ss was somewhere by the door, Tebatar somewhere between them, and Vornas in a corner.

"Anyway, as I was saying, things are going according to plan. T'risskacha's response to your ill-planned attempt on her life will both convince the Matron that she's solidly on Pellanistra's side. The girl will think the same thing, putting T'risskacha in the perfect place to implement our further plans," Yasmur'ss said.

"I'm not convinced," Sabafae said. Her tone sounded appropriately cautious.

"I'm certain you aren't. T'risskacha, I want to discuss some of the upcoming plan with you."

"Yes sister," the warrior said. There was the sound of movement, and someone left.

"T'risskacha, a word in your ear?" Zezdrin called. There was the sound of footsteps, and Pellanistra could hear the sound of her sister's light footsteps pad across the room to the side of her bed by Zezdrin.

"Brother?"

"Listen to her closely," he murmured. Pellanistra could barely make it out. "How else will we protect the little one here?"

"I take your advice to heart," Despana's third daughter said louder, just enough for Sabafae, Vornas, and Tebatar to catch it on the edge of their hearing. "Many thanks for the warning."

There was the sound of many feet leaving the room. Pellanistra waited for a moment, listening intently until she was certain it was just Zezdrin in the room. The girl pulled the cloth away from her eyes, opening them. "Zez?"

The weapons master swore and almost fell off the bed. "Pellanistra, how long have you been awake?" he asked.

"A while. Zez, what's going on?"

He sighed and moved so he was sitting next to her, legs stretched out across his bed. "A lot, little one. There are some people trying to kill you, and T'riss and I are trying to keep you safe from them."

The girl leaned against him, curling up close. "Why are people trying to kill me? I haven't done anything!" she protested, looking up with wide, innocent eyes.

"I know," Zezdrin said. "They're afraid of what you'll become. They are after power, and you could be a threat. T'risskacha thinks you will be the next Matron, and she's not alone in that."

"I don't want to be Matron," Pellanistra said. "It's more effort than it's worth."

"Who told you that?" he asked, amused.

"The Matron."

Zezdrin laughed out loud. "That sounds like something our lovely mother would say," he said with a grin. "Don't worry, little one, when the time comes you'll be more than ready to face your destiny."


	6. Oaths and Futures

T'risskacha stepped back in, gaze roaming listlessly across the floor and taking in the smooth stone. Her younger sister was shocked at her posture. For a brief moment, the warrior seemed defeated, one hand clutching the frame of the door to support herself, the other loose, hanging dead at her side. Her silvery hair shrouded her face from view like a curtain, shielding eyes full of immeasurable sorrow.

"T'riss?" Zezdrin's voice gently pushed away the sudden silence that had descended in the room. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Just fine," T'risskacha said, tucking her hair back behind her ears and giving him a small smile. "Little one, you feeling any better?"

Pellanistra nodded enthusiastically for a second, stopping when it made her head throb harder. "Well, I still have a headache," the girl said.

"Could you fight with it? Some practice would do you good, I think," the warrior said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Excitement burst into flame in the girl's silver-blue eyes. "Of course!"

Zezdrin grinned, standing up. "Why don't you two practice in the main Weapons Gym today? That way I can get a match with both of you, and the soldiers can see that T'risskacha still fights as well as she used to."

"Just what I need, gaping males while I'm trying to teach Pellanistra," she grumbled.

"It'd be good for her too—she'd get to see two excellent fighters in action," her brother put in. T'risskacha looked over at her sister to see the girl nod in agreement.

"Fine!" the warrior exclaimed in mock surrender, throwing up her hands. "Whatever the little imp wishes. Let's just hurry up and get started."

The three went out through the door and into the main gym, a massive room—at least to Pellanistra's eyes—that adjoined Zezdrin's room, filled with the ringing of blades on blades and shouted instructions. Heads turned to see two females in the gym who appeared interested in fighting, and Pellanistra felt distinctly uncomfortable. She looked to T'risskacha, who seemed entirely immune to the gawking. "Zez, why are they looking at us like that?" she asked, turning to look at her older brother.

"They're all new soldiers, with a few exceptions. Almost all of them don't realize that we have female soldiers in this house, and haven't even heard of T'risskacha."

"The masters at Melee-Magthere do their best to ensure that," Zezdrin's twin added in a low tone before continuing more normally, "It's like this, Pell—males have things expected of them, and it's the same for females. It's expected that females become a priestess or divine caster. If not, they don't become a warrior or a mage. Melee-Magthere and Sorcere are the domain of males. Females aren't exactly welcome."

"But you went," Pellanistra said. She almost flinched at the expression that crossed T'risskacha's face for a brief instant. It was indescribable, a mixture of hatred, sorrow, pain, and self-loathing.

"I did," her older sister said quietly. "And I was first in my class, as befitted a female. But they all hated me for it. I have no fond memories of that place. Things will be different for you—you'll be a priestess, and someday Matron."

The girl made a face. "And turn into Sabafae? Why would I want to do that?"

"Not all priestesses are like Sabafae," Zezdrin said wryly. _Some are less talented._

"Okay, let's get started," T'risskacha said, getting a saber for Pellanistra. The girl smiled, much to Zezdrin's surprise. It startled him even more that she held it with the same delicacy T'risskacha used when wielding her own.

_How much have you been teaching her, dear sister?_ he wondered, watching closely.

There was no more conversation or delay as the world ceased to exist for them, except this very small space. T'risskacha lunged, only to have Pellanistra dance back and cut down at her hand. The older female recoiled, parrying at the base of her own blade, and coming back to an en garde position to match her sister's. Zezdrin was intrigued, watching the two circle each other like panthers. He hadn't seen Pellanistra fight before, and was expecting a beginner—this was hardly the case.

The two looked so alike, slight smiles on their faces and a certain cunning in their expression. This time it was Pellanistra who took the offensive. She had been slowly tensing for the spring, then leaped to close the distance between them and put herself within reach. The girl moved with lightning speed, striking and then drawing back. T'risskacha parried, but wasn't about to let her student get away, chasing her.

There was a flurry of blows, the strikes echoing out as faint rings with a buzz of vibration. It wasn't flashy, more resembling two people trying to kill each other than a show of blade work—each lunge or extension aimed to injure, not hit their blade. Pellanistra was on the defensive now, holding up valiantly, though her sister's saber had sliced through her clothing on several occasions, stopping just short of an actual blow.

She gave a desperate lunge, hoping to drive T'risskacha back. The more experienced fighter caught her sister's blade against the thickest part of her saber and twisted as she pushed. Pellanistra felt it come out of her hand, and watched it clatter to the ground a couple feet away with dismay. T'risskacha tapped the flat of her saber against the side of the girl's neck. "Dead," the female warrior said. "But much better. You improve every time."

Pellanistra smiled, going to retrieve the weapon. She picked it up and turned back to her sister, realizing an odd hush had fallen over the Weapons Gym. "T'risskacha, come here," an all too familiar voice said, echoing easily across the eerily silent room.

An chill ran through the warrior's body. _Oh Goddess, it's the Matron,_ T'risskacha realized. Pellanistra watched her sister turn stiffly, expression frozen.

Mayna was standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Her expression boded very ill indeed—face grim except for a very small, unpleasant smile that heralded something horrible happening to someone in the very near future.

"Coming, Matron," T'risskacha said, swallowing dryly. She didn't know what she had done, but apparently it wasn't good. The warrior's feet took her out into the hall with her mother almost against her will. Zezdrin and Pellanistra both sprinted to the closed door, pressing their ears against it to hear what was going on.

There was a harsh slapping sound that earned a wince from Zezdrin. "Would you care to explain this?" the Matron asked in a voice that was more a snarl. There was a clattering sound as though something was thrown at T'risskacha's feet. "Or how it ended up in the hands of Matron Nedxae Hun'ett?"

"Matron, I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't, did you? If you were Yasmur'ss or Sabafae, I would kill you and hang your body in webbing as a sign of disgrace. But neither of them are stupid enough to do something like this. Make no mistke, you are living only by virtue of Pellanistra's attachment to you and the fact that you are normally more intelligent than this."

"Shi'vayas saved my life. I was obliged to give it to her."

"Your sense of obligation has left our house indebted to a blood enemy!" Mayna shrieked. There was a thud that sounded a lot like T'risskacha being slammed into the door Zezdrin and Pellanistra had their ears against. Both of them winced and rubbed at their faces. Everyone in the Weapons Gym heard that and looked over curiously.

"My apologies, Matron," their sister said in a hushed tone.

"Yes, well, House Hun'ett has just used their favor, and since it's your token, I think it would be best if you were in charge of fulfilling Nedxae's request. You are going to train Adinar Hun'ett. And keep it out of my sight. I hate draegloths."

"What?" T'risskacha said, shock in her voice apparent even through the door.

"Oh, Shi'vayas forgot to tell you about her brother the demon-spawned? Adinar is Nedxae's...son, for lack of a better word. And in two days, I want to see you and Zezdrin with the others. We need to discuss the matter of Pellanistra's future."

"Matron, isn't she going to Arach-Tinilith?" T'risskacha asked as her brother pulled Pellanistra away from the door.

"Perhaps," Mayna said, temper cooled. "You may return to your previous duties."

"Yes, Matron."


	7. The Matron's Decision

"I'm sorry, I thought our dear mother said 'train', not 'tame'!" T'risskacha said hotly, crossing her arms over her chest. She and Zezdrin were standing in the corridor outside a closed and locked door.

"Calm down, T'riss," her brother said soothingly. "We'll figure out a way to deal with it. In the mean time, just relax and keep Pellanistra away from him."

"Keep her away from him? Do you know how hard it is to keep Pellanistra out of anything even vaguely resembling trouble?" the warrior said, burying her face in her hands. "She may be one of my favorite people in this world, but she's a handful. Still, he's chained up, and not even she's stupid enough to go near the growling brute. And we have to talk to the Matron today too. I think I'd rather chew off my own right hand than have any conversation with her right now."

"Avoiding her, then?" Zezdrin said wryly, walking down the hall beside his twin sister. "For as long as you can, anyway."

"Wouldn't you?"

Inside the room, Pellanistra sat just out of reach of the draegloth, watching him closely. Growling brute was actually a fairly accurate way to describe Adinar at first glance. The creature was huge and muscular, roughly humanoid with the shining onyx skin of a drow and a tangled mane of yellow-white hair. He didn't have a face per say, features turning into a snarling muzzle filled with sharp teeth. He jerked at the chains holding his four arms back—one larger pair capped with a set of powerfully claws, the other more slender pair coming to an end at thin hands and dexterous, pianist's fingers.

"Adinar," Pellanistra said gently. "That's your name, right?"

He stopped yanking on his restraints and snapping, cocking his head at her with a sort of wary caution. He growled low in his throat.

"You don't talk, do you?" the girl said calmly, stretching out on her stomach and putting her chin on her crossed arms. "But you understand me, when you stop long enough to listen. I'm not going to hurt you."

Adinar let out a keening sound low in his throat, sitting back on his haunches. His legs were odd too, more like a goat's than a human's but without the fur or hooves. Instead, they ended in feet with claws to match two of his hands. Pellanistra stretched out a hand to where he could reach it, saddened by the sound. The draegloth stretched forward, bumping his bestial nose against her fingertips.

"They hurt you, didn't they? And you don't like being chained. It's lonely here, isn't it?"

He nodded, feral eyes calming. Pellanistra sat up and scooted closer slowly until she was well within his reach. The draegloth didn't hurt her, letting her touch one of his delicate hands. He took hold of hers, examining it minutely with remarkable gentleness.

"I'm going to unlock the chains, okay? But you can't go running out the door or on another rampage—I don't want anyone to hurt you. T'risskacha doesn't either, though it's hard to tell. And you shouldn't snap at T'riss either, she wants to help you."

Adinar nodded, letting go of her hand. The young drowess stood up and muttered the quiet incantation she had learned from years of watching Sabafae. The manacles fell off the draegloth's hands, clattering to the floor. A toothy grin spread across his face, and a pleased rumble rolled out of the depths of Adinar's chest.

"Okay, that smile's a little scary. Good to see, though," Pellanistra said wryly. "Better?"

He nodded enthusiastically, stretching his powerful limbs and sturdy trunk before bounding forward to sweep Pellanistra up into a hug that threatened to crush her bones.

"Adinar! Gently!" the girl cried with the last of her breath. The draegloth let his grip relax considerably, setting her down gingerly.

Pellanistra heard her name being called and gave Adinar an apologetic smile. "I have to go. Be good for T'riss."

The draegloth made a soft keening sound as his new and only friend slipped out the door and closed it behind herself. The girl saw Sabafae standing further down the hall. "Come on," the priestess said shortly.

Pellanistra followed her older sister through the twisting maze of corridors in silence, feeling an odd sort of dread as the approached the main hall where she knew her mother was waiting. She didn't understand what was going to happen, but there was a certainty in her heart that nothing afterwards was going to be the same.

Sabafae pushed open the doors, propelling Pellanistra in with surprisingly light pressure on her shoulder then following and carefully closing the doors again. As far as the Matron was concerned, this was a matter for only nobles.

The girl almost gaped to see her whole family assembled. The Matron was seated as though expecting an audience, with a vaguely familiar male at her side. Pellanistra had always known in a somewhat abstract way that her father was the Patron, but this was the first time she had laid eyes on Malagzar since the day she was born. Now she knew where Sabafae's crimson eyes came from, frowning slightly as she studied the Patron. He had the same aquiline features as Tebatar, but they seemed somehow more distinguished and handsome, with ivory hair left long and masterwork plate armor.

And then her gaze was off, scrutinizing her siblings. T'risskacha and Zezdrin were the only familiar faces here, but she knew the names of the others—that alone was most of her knowledge, other than some sparse gossip she heard from the House soldiers she had encountered. Tebatar looked very similar to the Patron, but there was a sort of sourness about his mouth and eyes that killed most of his appeal. Yasmur'ss was like their eldest brother, with Malagzar's hair and a face akin to the Patron's, but her eyes were such a dark gray they seemed like twin mirrors.

Vornas she had no trouble recognizing, with his robes of a wizard and neatly trimmed goatee. She had never met a male drow with facial hair before, and it puzzled her. He was deep in conversation with another young female, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, but no older. The voice was the same deep, resonant one she had heard in Zezdrin's bedroom.

The girl he was talking to she guessed was Talra, her supposed half-sister bound for Sorcere. Whispered rumors amongst the soldiers claimed she was Malagzar's daughter, but not the Matron's. If that was true, her nobility was a mystery indeed—Pellanistra had always been taught that bloodlines passed through females.

"When all of you are finished," Mayna said a bit sharply, putting an end to the side conversations. "We can begin discussing where Pellanistra is bound. Sabafae, do you have any opinion whatsoever on this?"

"None, Matron," the cleric said, much to her mother's surprise.

"Very well. Zezdrin?"

Pellanistra smiled slightly at her brother, which he returned with a wink and a slight grin that miraculously passed unnoticed. "She's shaping up to be quite the fighter, and she's getting frighteningly good at Shelza Ir. Perhaps Melee-Magthere is the best place for her," the male said. Mayna caught sight of the strange expression that flitted across T'risskacha's features and made a mental note to ask her after her other sons made their opinions plain.

"Tebatar, Vornas, do you have any thoughts?"

"Zezdrin is known for speaking wisely," Tebatar said. "Even if he and I rarely agree, if that is what he believes then perhaps she is meant to be another fighter." Unspoken words seemed to follow in his expression: _And become T'risskacha's replacement._

Vornas considered the situation carefully before speaking. If Pellanistra attended Melee-Magthere, then there would be no threat to Yasmur'ss and Sabafae, and the two of them could fight over who was to be Matron to their hearts' content. On the other hand, he had no desire to make an enemy of T'risskacha,which suggesting the girl attend Melee-Magthere could very well do. He wasn't on the same level of value as Zezdrin as far as the warrior was concerned, and thus couldn't expect any forgiveness from Despana's third noble daughter.

"I think our House needs no more fighters," Vornas said finally. "It also seems to me that she has the capacity for magic."

Talra looked over at him, frowning in bewilderment. She was Vornas's charge and knew of the plot that was shrouding her younger sister. The idea that her mentor had just created a potential rival did not sit well with the girl. Before she could make her protest audible, however, Yasmur'ss spoke.

"I agree with Vornas—what do we need another fighter for when T'risskacha and Zezdrin have those roles filled with such competence. And with young Talra attending Sorcere in four or five years, we have little need for another arcanist. The Academy of Arach-Tinilith has long been the place of choice for females," Yasmur'ss said, honeyed words seeming to flow into the ear.

There was a sharp hiss of indrawn breath from Sabafae, the priestess's grip on Pellanistra's shoulder tightening suddenly. The girl started slightly, looking up at her sister in surprise. There was a strange bitterness in the cleric's expression as she glared in their sister's direction.

Malagzar leaned down, whispering something in Mayna's ear. The Matron nodded thoughtfully before turning her attention back to her gathered children. "Yasmur'ss, you make a valid point. Our House needs another priestess. Arach-Tinilith it is."

A single, soft word slipped from Sabafae's lips in a denial so quiet that Pellanistra barely caught it on the edge of her hearing. "No."

"Sabafae, you and Pellanistra may go. I have words for the others," Mayna said with a dismissive wave of her hand. The priestess bowed and departed, tugging the girl with her.

As soon as they were out in the hall Sabafae's demeanor changed abruptly, becoming almost savage with anger. She seized Pellanistra by the shoulders, and for a moment the girl was afraid she was going to be shaken violently. "I'm only going to give you this talk once," the priestess said harshly, glaring into her sister's eyes. "You're going to be learning from the Matron, Yasmur'ss, and I. If you ever think to trust our eldest sister, you're a fool. If you do trust her, then you'll be a dead fool. Am I understood?"

Pellanistra nodded, eyes tearing up slightly at the fingers digging into her shoulders.

"Go to your room," Sabafae ordered, her voice sounding harsh. "I'm testing you on House history tomorrow."


	8. A Spark of Madness

Time passed as it was wont to do, some days slipping by as slowly as years and others flying by like a thought, each cycle of Faer'Sussun blending seamlessly into the next. Pellanistra had seen little of T'risskacha since her encounter with Sabafae and the Matron's decision, and her rare times with her older sister had taken on a very different tone than before. Yasmur'ss, in an unexpected moment of camaraderie—or as close as the cold drowess got—explained it was to be expected. Pellanistra's attendance of Arach-Tinilith was everything T'risskacha had hoped for...and feared. But the girl had managed to cultivate a friendship with Adinar, who she saw far more regularly. The draegloth was looking much saner.

The young drowess crossed her arms over her chest, looking out the enchanted mirror that served as her window. She had her own room now, though it was next to Sabafae's. Pellanistra regarded it as a minor inconvenience...most of the time. Lessons from her two oldest sisters and the Matron occupied most of the time, but the magic was interesting, to say the least. There were sometimes, late at night, when she recited the prayers Sabafae had drilled into her and something happened. The surge of energy and euphoria it brought was hard to quantify, and even more difficult to put into words.

"Ah, you're awake still. I thought you might be," Yasmur'ss said from the doorway. She scrutinized her younger sister closely. "T'risskacha will be surprised at how tall you've gotten."

"Am I going to see her?" Pellanistra said as she turned, an eyebrow elevating slightly in surprise. The eye of Lolth almost smiled slightly in approval—the girl's emotions showed far less. _It's so hard to believe she's eighteen now. Where does the time go when you're plotting to kill someone?_ Yasmur'ss mused absently.

"She, Zezdrin, and Sabafae are escorting you to the Academy. We can't have you getting lost or injured en route. Besides, she's House Blademistress now. It gives her something productive to do with her time."

"Why are you here anyway?" the young drowess said brusquely. She hadn't forgotten Sabafae's backhanded warning.

"I figured you're old enough to hear the truth," Yasmur'ss said, moving away from the door and taking a seat. It drifted almost completely closed behind her, the soft click seeming to echo along with her words in Pellanistra's ears.

"And you, the famous liar and schemer, would tell me the truth why?"

Dark, mirror eyes seemed to flash with amusement as Yasmur'ss laughed. "How astute of you to question my motives. Perhaps there is some hope for you yet—our sister has been teaching you something useful, at least. I would tell you the truth because I don't believe in coddling. Besides, you're leaving for the Academy. That makes you enough of an adult to understand most of what I have to say. The rest you will learn on your own."

Unease bloomed into full flower in the pit of Pellanistra's stomach. "I'm not convinced," the blue-eyed drowess said.

"How like Sabafae you are," Yasmur'ss said with a slight smile. It seemed twisted, malicious—so different from the one that had once so often graced T'risskacha's face.

"Sabafae?" Pellanistra challenged. "I am nothing like Sabafae!"

"Are you so sure of that? Do you think she has always been the priestess you study under every day? Do you know what Arach-Tinilith does to those sent there?"

Pellanistra shook her head wordlessly, confused by the almost mocking tone in her eldest sister's voice. Yasmur'ss was taking her amusement at her sister's expense, and yet the young drowess didn't understand how the eye of Lolth was getting the better of her.

"Ah, I thought not. You would not recognize her if she behaved in the fashion that she once did. She was charismatic, full of life, personality, and perhaps even the softer emotions she now so despises as weakness. Not to say that particular change was for the worse, of course."

"Then why is she like this?"

"Who can say? I did not attend Arach-Tinilith, so I don't know what she was subjected to that changed her so much. Sabafae was never the golden child—that seems to be your role, and why she hates you so—but the Matron offered her a surprising amount of respect. Malagzar said our mother hoped that Sabafae would be Matron after her. And then, on her return, she was a mere shell. The Academy stripped away her personality, leaving a shell of herself behind. And you, Pellanistra, are facing a similar fate."

"Why are you telling me this?" the young drowess demanded, trying to cover her own fear and apprehension with harshness.

"Because it starts with fear," Sabafae said from the doorway. Pellanistra started violently, an icy hand closing around her heart. There was something different in the priestess's face, her manner—in that moment, Sabafae seemed more like the Matron than ever before. Her voice was frigid, eyes narrowed slightly with contempt as she looked at Yasmur'ss. "Leave us."

The command was given with a sharply imperious tone, and to Pellanistra's surprise, Yasmur'ss obeyed. The older drowess knew that expression—it was more dangerous than any flare up of her black temper, and the stone-eyed female had no intention of arguing with her sister while she was in such a mood.

"Sabafae," Pellanistra said haltingly. "What did you mean?"

The priestess stepped in and closed the door, her expression slipping into an even more frightening neutrality as she took a seat in another vacant chair. Sabafae had no desire to touch anything Yasmur'ss had—it left her feeling somehow dirtied.

"What the snake was talking about, the things that happen at the Academy," Sabafae said, crimson eyes calmer than Pellanistra thought she had ever seen them. "It begins with fear, gnawing away at your heart. Being isolated from everything you know doesn't help. Then they teach you about hate and anger, how strong they can make you feel after being humiliated and frightened. Power and pain make a potent combination. It changes those who encounter it—it will change you."

"Like it changed you?"

The priestess snorted. "Did Yasmur'ss get to the point where she bemoaned how useless and weak I've become? I was naive when I left for the Academy—and perhaps even when I graduated, though not nearly so much. After my graduation, I thought, like Yasmur'ss still does, that power was the answer to all of my problems. With it I could take revenge and stop the pain I carried with me. Thus came the ambition seemingly without end. Mine has cooled, while our sister's still burns hotter than ever. She would be Matron in an instant if she thought she could dispose of our mother."

"I used to hate you," Pellanistra said with a hint of wonder, taking a seat near Sabafae. "Now I don't know what I feel towards you."

"Pity, probably," Sabafae said, her mouth twitching up at the corners into a crooked, self-mocking smile.

_She's like a parody of herself—or the self she used to be,_ Pellanistra realized.

The priestess leaned forward with startling speed, seizing her sister's wrists less than gently and tugging the younger female towards the front of her seat so there was a less a chance of them being overheard. "It's a lie," Sabafae whispered fiercely. "Power is like a drug. You feel better for a while—it makes everything bad that has ever happened to you seem distant, irrelevant. You think you can stop it all, but you're wrong. It goes away, and the pain is even worse. And they will teach you to inflict pain on others to vent your own anger and frustration before it can consume you. You mustn't believe them, do you understand? It's not too late for you to save yourself."

Pellanistra looked at the feverish, unnatural gleam in her sister's eyes and nodded uncertainly. "I understand," she murmured.

"Then perhaps there's hope," Sabafae said, standing up and releasing her hold on her sister before leaving the room as suddenly as she had come.

The young drowess felt sick as she thought about that mad light in her sister's eyes. Whatever had happened to Sabafae, it had left her with a mind broken beyond repair. Now Pellanistra understood why Yasmur'ss never played her cruel mind games with the priestess—she could never do anything worse than what had been done.

_What possessed her to try and save me?_

Pellanistra realized, deep down, what Sabafae had said was true—she did pity her sister, or at least the creature the priestess was becoming. Ever so slowly, Despana's second noble daughter was driving herself insane.


	9. Calm Before the Storm

T'risskacha stood on the balcony overlooking her family's domain, watching the ceaseless ebb and flow of life in Yvoth-Lened's streets. The city was very much awake and alive, even though Faer'Ssussun had just finished it's death. Something was different. On the surface, it seemed like every other day. But beneath, she could sense an unnatural calm. She jumped slightly at the sudden revelation that her mother had joined her.

"Did I disturb you?" Mayna asked, not bothering to apologize. It had been so long since she had done it, the cleric could barely remember how to.

T'risskacha shrugged with a non-committal noise before giving voice to her thoughts. "Can you feel it too? The stories I've heard say on the surface this sort of calm comes just before the worst of storms," the fighter said absently.

"Sabafae collapsed in the Temple during the ceremony four days ago—the Revered Chalisstra seems to believe she was touched by Lolth or received a vision. Has your sister made any mention of this to you?" the Matron said, not bothering to snap at her third daughter for impropriety. T'risskacha could hear a similar feeling in her mother's voice, knowing the answer to her question without receiving one directly.

"She doesn't speak to me when she can avoid it," the warrior said dryly. "Yasmur'ss did say she was behaving more...erratically than usual. It seems Sabafae has been spending a great deal of time in reflection and study, emerging only to snap at anyone she encounters and speak privately with Pellanistra. Vornas attributed it to madness when the topic came up."

Mayna raised an eyebrow. As far as she could recall, the priestess had always reserved special amounts of hatred for her youngest sister. "They're speaking in private now?"

"Without hostility, it would appear. Yasmur'ss didn't hear any shouting or anything of that nature. Maybe because Pellanistra's leaving for Arach-Tinilith in less than eight hours?"

"And you haven't tried getting any answers out of Sabafae," Mayna said dryly, not quite believing her daughter. She expected T'risskacha to express much more curiosity, especially if Pellanistra was involved.

"I know when to let sleeping shades lie," the warrior said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the railing and cup her chin in her hand. The Matron caught the double meaning in her words.

"You know something," Mayna said coolly, crossing her arms and studying her daughter.

"I know many things, and yet I'm more confused than the people who remain blissfully ignorant. The patrols going anywhere west or south of Yvoth-Lened vanish without a trace, there are things moving in the Sunless Sea, Sabafae hasn't been sleeping because of nightmares, the whole city is afraid of something, and somehow this all involves Pellanistra the eternally oblivious," T'risskacha said, an edge to her voice.

"What in the Goddess's name could give Sabafae nightmares? She's other people's nightmares."

"Whatever she saw in the Temple. Erratic is definitely the word for her behavior—she jumps at shadows, cries out in her sleep, prays in the Chapel at the oddest hours, and hasn't said more than two normal words to anyone but our budding priestess. She all but threw Yasmur'ss out of Pellanistra's room a couple hours ago, acting in defense of the girl she's always hated. I'm still trying to figure out if I've slipped into an alternate plane that parallels this one, or if she's finally lost her somewhat tenuous grip on sanity."

Mayna puzzled over this, mentally filing away everything T'risskacha had said for future reference. "I'll talk to her," the Matron said finally.

T'risskacha snorted. "With all do respect, Matron, I think you're the last person on earth she's likely to confide in. If I were you, I would ask Pellanistra to probe for that information since the two seem to be sharing secrets now."

* * *

Sabafae knelt before the altar of Lolth in the chapel, swaying back and forth slightly as she murmured prayers fervently. The priestess's eyes were shut tightly as she intoned the words with an urgency she had never known before, trying to comfort herself and drive away the thoughts that had haunted her since the Temple.

She didn't remember what had happened that day before she felt the brush against both her shoulder and mind that had sapped all the strength from her body, before the visions unfolded behind her eyes. The drowess had vowed not to speak of what she had seen, hoping it would go away and leave her be.

But it clung to her like the cloying smell of incense did now, nightmares tormenting her even when she was awake. Now that her eyes had been opened, she could sense the thing's taint everywhere. Not even Lolth's holy places were safe.

_I have to tell Pellanistra, _the priestess acknowledged reluctantly as she opened her eyes. Shadows flickered across the walls to send shivers down her spine, cast by the glowing coals of the brazier. Nedxae Hun'ett had barred her access to Arach-Tinilith's library, but the girl would be able to look. Despite the fear, Sabafae felt as though she needed to know what it was she had seen. And if the Flesh-Carver hadn't misdirected her, Pellanistra was involved anyway.

All she could remember as she finished her rite was its name: Shothotugg, Eater of Worlds.

"Afraid of the dark now?" Yasmur'ss whispered in her sister's ear. Sabafae leapt up, upsetting the brazier. Hot coals and ashes went cascading across the floor with a sharp clang as the adamantine bowl struck the stone.

Both females choked slightly as thick smoke rolled over them, staggering back out of the column with burning eyes and scratchy throats. Sabafae recovered first, anger flooding through her. It was a nice distraction from the fear. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you not to sneak up on those in prayer?" the priestess snarled, hand straying dangerously near the snake whip that writhed on her belt.

"I didn't think you were the sort to jump at shadows, let alone a familiar voice," Yasmur'ss said frostily, prepared to draw the dagger in her belt in an instant. Mentally, the older noble was calculating how to use her sister's jumpiness to her advantage. _If she wasn't so useful at present, I would have killed her while she prayed. Apparently she's too distracted to hear anyone approach._

"Familiar, but not welcome," Sabafae snapped, regaining her composure. "What do you want, serpent-tongue?"

"To know why you aren't following the plan we all agreed was best," the other drowess said sharply. "You're supposed to be letting Arach-Tinilith do what it does best—what it did to you, not shielding her from it. Ever since your fit in the Temple, you've behaved strangely. What in the nine hells is going on?"

"My fit?" the priestess echoed, seeming to tower over her sister in rage. Something about Yasmur'ss seemed to infuriate her beyond all rational bounds. "Do you think I've become so weak in the mind that I act without thought? Perhaps I shield her because that is what is best!"

"Best for who? Surely it's not you or I? Do you want to lose your life and chance at being Matron to some upstart whelp, Fifth Daughter at that? Pellanistra is nothing!" Yasmur'ss said, her voice as frigid as ever.

"She is everything!" Sabafae snarled, advancing on her sister with a look in her eye that made the older female back up. "What point is there in being Matron Mother of a doomed House in a world poisoned beyond any antidote? I don't care about your plans anymore! You're blinded by ambition, Yasmur'ss, but I will not let mine rule me. Your lust for power has grown so you can't see what's right in front of you!"

"Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me to the meaning of your ravings," Despana's first noble daughter challenged, drawing the dagger to dissuade Sabafae from using the violence she could see in her sister's expression.

The motion seemed to infuriate the priestess further and she lunged forward, seizing Yasmur'ss by the front of her shirt and slamming her against one of the marble pillars that vanished into a graceful arch high above. "Go out into the city—look around," Sabafae said. Her voice was soft and very, very dangerous. "Yvoth-Lened is full of fear. Our soldiers go on patrol and do not return. Things are changing—aberrations are moving in the Sunless Sea. They're waiting for it, just like we are without knowing. Pellanistra is the only thing we have to protect us now."

"She couldn't protect us from a crippled faerie child."

"Perhaps that's true. But unhindered, she can protect us from the Eater," the priestess said, her eyes wild and wide with fear as she merely thought of the entity she had seen in the dark Lolth had brought her to. Sabafae released her grip on Yasmur'ss, stepping back with the look of one hopelessly lost. "But if she dies, there will be nothing. Do you understand?"

"You're sleep-deprived, hallucinating," the older female rationalized. "Have some wine and try to rest. Once this episode you're having finishes, you'll be yourself again. The plan has to go forward. The die has already been cast."

Despair swallowed Sabafae's heart as she listened to her sister's words. The priestess nodded numbly, letting them roll off without really registering the sudden slyness in the other female's expression. "Fine," the cleric said after a moment's pause, suddenly feeling tired down to her very bones.

"Why don't you join me for a drink?" Yasmur'ss suggested. Sabafae's glare shattered all the older drowess's hopes of being able to eliminate her.

"Sleep deprived, Yasmur'ss. Not stupid," Sabafae growled before turning on her heel and stalking out of the Chapel. She knew that her sister would continue to write off the warning no matter what she did. _Pellanistra will believe me...she's a smart girl. She has to help me_, the priestess thought with a touch of the same desperation that had filled her when she tried to tell Yasmur'ss.


	10. Thicker Than Water

When Pellanistra came down the next morning, chaos seemed in full control of House Despana's villa. Her siblings had gathered along with the Matron and Patron in one of the antechambers adjoining the audience hall, behaving as they generally did when they were all together. She could hear her mother from quite a distance away. "...T'risskacha, Tebatar, sit down and shut up before I cut out your tongues myself!"

The girl edged into the room, taking the vacant spot by Sabafae. The priestess was unusually subdued, eyes on the maps and papers in front of them while she waited for their mother to finish. "What did I miss?" Pellanistra murmured.

"Besides the bickering?" Sabafae whispered back.

Mayna slumped back into her chair, massaging her temples as she tried to suppress the worst of her temper. "How is it that I'm supposed to rule an eighth of the greatest city in the western Vault when I can barely rule my own family?" the Matron muttered, casting her eyes upward as though searching for divine aid—or possibly something to hurl at her eldest son with magic.

T'risskacha and Tebatar exchanged a look that plainly said 'this isn't over yet', but fell into duly chastised silence. The rest of the room quieted quite quickly after that as they waited for Mayna to speak again.

"Zezdrin, if you would perhaps care to enlighten us as to what occurred on your patrol? Your sisters' reports can wait for a brief spell—especially since T'risskacha can't speak of hers without Tebatar seeing fit to add his input."

The male nodded, face apologetic on his irritated twin's behalf. "We came across the remains of the other patrols that have been disappearing for some months now, and the signs all point to one thing—mind flayers. From the amount of dead, I would assume a full enclave or city has turned its eyes towards Yvoth-Lened."

There was a stir of unease through the drow in the room, Pellanistra included. She recalled her history lessons from Sabafae well—illithids had posed a danger to the city in the past, and the conflicts were brutal. The girl couldn't help speaking up though. "But Matron Zilthae practically took Lagurno apart stone by stone. That was the last mind flayer settlement within a hundred miles of Yvoth-Lened," Pellanistra said. "How is that possible?"

Mayna gestured to T'risskacha, signaling for her third daughter to answer the question. The Matron also glared at Tebatar, as though daring him to speak. The male seemed thoroughly cowed, wisely choosing to hold his peace. The female warrior sighed, seeming tired. "The Underriver flows through the Outer Web to the Sunless Sea. If our scrying is any indication, the mind flayers have been cooperating with the aboleths that reside in those waters. More disturbing is that there's something giving them cause to cooperate. All told, we've lost two full companies, and House Noquar has lost twice that. Yasmur'ss informed me that Sochsna has been as helpful as always in explaining these things—what we know only scratches the surface, and that damned aboleth won't fill us in on the rest."

Sabafae seemed to sense Pellanistra's confusion and filled her in quietly as Tebatar and T'risskacha started to bicker again. "Sochsna and his brood have a piecemeal alliance with us through House Noquar. He's an aboleth quite fond of not answering our questions and occasionally eating our messengers. His spawn are all fairly young, but they're just like him—evasive when we ask him what he doesn't want to tell us. That's why we sent Yasmur'ss."

"Because you want her to get eaten?" Pellanistra queried softly.

"As nice of a thought as that is, it's actually because nothing will eat Yasmur'ss...including an aboleth. Once, when we were on a surface raid, a viper bit her and died," the priestess answered dryly. The girl looked at her older sister with a mixture of confusion and disbelief, but Sabafae shook her head to forestall any further questions.

"Tebatar, before you begin accusing your sister of lying, perhaps you would care to take a seat again and allow me to let you all in on what I discovered," Mayna said dryly. Her son slammed back into his chair with bad grace, though he dared not say a word. The cleric didn't comment, doing her best to restrain an eye roll. "There's a disturbance in the Weave. Something...unnatural is beginning to happen. Sabafae has rather cryptically informed me that she may have an idea—until she and Pellanistra can research this further, we will have to deal with the implications in the Material Plane. T'risskacha, Tebatar, you are both responsible for calling back all of our remaining patrols to the south and west of the city. Sending soldiers blindly to an inevitable and probably painful death is pointless. Am I understood?"

There was a general chorus in the affirmative, and Malagzar spoke for the first time since the informal sort of Council had begun. "What of the illithid city on the shores of the Sunless Sea, Matron?" the male asked, eyes studying the maps still.

Mayna didn't so much as bat an eyelash at the fact that the Patron knew the location of the city and hadn't informed her. She knew from experience flying into a rage at him would be a waste of her time and energy. "Zezdrin will be in charge of marshaling troops for an eventual response. I will confer with Matron Rauvzyne Noquar before bringing this to the attention of the Council. Other than that, life will continue on as normal. None of you are to speak of this to anyone but each other—the general public does not need to be privy to this. Panic spreads in a city like poison in water."

"How apt," Sabafae murmured. She rose respectfully. "Matron, may Pellanistra and I depart for Arach-Tinilith? I assume the others will be occupied with their duties."

"You may," Mayna said shortly, waving a hand dismissively.

* * *

"It's beautiful," Pellanistra breathed, eyes wide as she trailed after her sister.

"I keep forgetting this is your first time out in the city. Do try and watch your feet. You're a noble, you have a certain image to maintain," Sabafae said, amused by her sister's gawking expression. The girl seemed to be trying to take in every bit of her surroundings at once, dazzled by the sights and sounds assaulting her from all angles.

There were creatures of so many different races: goblins, drow, duergar, gnomes, derro, quaggoths, trolls, and more crowding the narrow streets. Yvoth-Lened was built on massive stalactites in a cavern that defied the limits of sight, causeways and avenues gently sloping as one traveled down from the upper echelons of the city. Slender pillars swept up into graceful arches, each crowned with a stylized spider or glyph. Lights flickered everywhere—Yvoth-Lened was a veritable sea of pinpricks in the darkness, but none was greater than the pillar known as Faer'Ssussun that stood visible at every level as its fiery light burned upward towards its zenith just below the great stone sky.

"It looks so much bigger up close," the girl murmured, silvery-blue eyes still seemingly huge in amazement.

Sabafae sighed and steered her sister through the crowds. Goblins and other lesser creatures fought to get out of their way—those who moved too slowly were bitten by the priestess's snake whip. Being jostled did not put Despana's second daughter in a good mood, and she wasn't adverse to cursing at or even striking those who impeded them. Her status and murderous expression was enough to send most skittering.

The streets cleared as they drew nearer to Arach-Tinilith and the grim, imposing building Pellanistra knew abstractly was the Fane of Lolth. The solemn stone chimes rang out over the city, signaling the beginning of yet another rite, accompanied by faint screams.

The Academy seemed equally impressive, a graceful web of towers and walkways that melded into the natural stone formations. Sabafae shuffled her sister in, unmolested by the handful of guards at the gate. Out on the grounds, a drow priestess was pointing to diagrams of a human body while lecturing students on the finer points of torture. There seemed to be a large gathering of people on the front steps and in the main hall with its doors standing open, which was exactly what Pellanistra was being lead to.

"You can do that?" she asked her sister, still staring over her shoulder at the students outside.

"Focus," Sabafae muttered, releasing her hold. "You can ask those questions of an instructor when the time comes. The Matron already has all of your arrangements made, so we should get to your room quickly. I want to speak with you privately."

The younger drowess rubbed her hand along her jaw pensively, trying to banish the endless stream of questions welling up. She knew her curiosity would just irritate Sabafae. "This has to do with what Mother mentioned, doesn't it?"

"Don't call her that," Sabafae said sternly. "Especially not here. You will refer to every priestess and cleric by their appropriate title. Anything less is disrespectful."

"Even you?" Pellanistra asked, bewildered by this new turn of events. The Matron had never mentioned their familiarity as being disrespectful. Arach-Tinilith seemed to bring all kinds of new rules.

Sabafae gnawed at her lower lip as she considered the question. "No, you don't have to use any honorifics for me," the priestess said finally. "But that's because I've given you express permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sister," Pellanistra said. Before she could gather up the courage to ask another question, someone collided with them.

"Why don't you watch where you're—" they started to say, only to be cut off by Sabafae's backhanding strike. Pellanistra winced, watching the other young drowess hit the dust. Despana's second daughter had raised many of her siblings, and her forearm was a power in its own right to be feared just as much as the snake whip. The blue-eyed girl did not envy them.

"You will mind your tongue when you speak to a priestess!" Sabafae snapped, face as hard and cruel as when she had first heard Pellanistra speak irreverently of Lolth. The offending drowess glared up at them, but was wise enough to bite her tongue. She looked like a noble, and was young enough to be a new student as well.

Pellanistra glanced from her sister to this newcomer with confusion, unable to comprehend why the other girl was giving her such a look of venom and hate. "Sabafae?" she said finally, settling on the person she knew and understood.

The priestess made a noise of disdain, lip curling into a sneer of contempt. "Hun'ett, I should have known. The only house whose manners are worse than those of Xorlarrin," Sabafae said, voice scathing as she started back on the path.

_'Your sense of obligation has left us indebted to a blood enemy!'_ Pellanistra shook her head as though clearing it of a mist, recalling her mother's rage all too clearly. The idea of being at such odds with House Hun'ett confused her. But she could still feel those hateful eyes following them as they entered Arach-Tinilith's vaulting stone hall.


	11. Eyeless Sight

The majority of Sabafae's conversation with Pellanistra had been filling her in on the mysterious Shothotugg, an entity known more commonly as the Eater of Worlds. Before going her separate way, the priestess had promised to come back and visit often. Pellanistra understood that this had a dual purpose: both so that they could compare notes on the Eater, and to keep her in contact with her family and House. She had slept uneasily in this unfamiliar place, only to awaken to a day of lessons.

She and about six other students had been shuffled together into a class, including the noble she and Sabafae encountered the day before—Inshalee Hun'ett, who was walking next to her in silence through the hallway with the rest of their group.

"Who are we going to see first?" one of the other girls asked. Pellanistra had to concentrate on her lessons from Yasmur'ss to recognize the house glyph and the face. _Drisxena Tuin'Tarl,_ she finally remembered, listening to her oldest sister's phantom voice fill her in on the details. '_Fourth daughter of that house. Her mother's becoming a very important woman. They took control of House Aleval's mithril mines during some skirmishes and are the principle suppliers of that metal to the city.'_

"Reverend Mother Zilvala," Pellanistra answered idly as she scrutinized Inshalee's expression, mentally comparing this supposed enemy to Sabafae—the two were very different in most respects, but they seemed to share temperaments.

"_Shebali_," Inshalee spat, causing the blue-eyed girl to frown slightly. She didn't recognize the word.

"What do you mean?" Drisxena asked.

"She's worse than a commoner—she has no house, no allegiances to speak of. People say she was a slave who butchered her way to the top," the Hun'ett noble said coldly.

"People say all kinds of things," Pellanistra said, crossing her arms. She had heard Sabafae speak highly of the Reverend Mother on many occasions. "I have never heard any priestess speak of her with anything less than the utmost respect. Besides, so what if she was a slave?"

Inshalee rounded on her, looking disdainfully at the blue-eyed drowess. "You're a Despana—any dirt can rise to become a noble in your house."

Anger like Pellanistra had never known before reared up for just a moment, the honor of her entire family screaming at her to do something. She could see the slight smile in the taller female's eyes as Inshalee wordlessly goaded her towards fighting. But Pellanistra's lessons from the Matron made her stop—even if the Hun'ett girl was a blood enemy, only a fool would fight her on her own terms. "Where Hun'ett just relies on demonspawn," the younger, smaller girl said in a challenge, mastering her temper.

There was a hiss of indrawn breath from Inshalee, and Pellanistra almost grinned triumphantly. She had just struck a nerve. "A draegloth is a sign of Lolth's favor," Inshalee hissed, hands clenching spasmodically into fists.

"They're tainted blood," Pellanistra challenged, calling on the history lessons from Yasmur'ss to defend her house. "My sister can be gifted a divine vision from the Flesh-Carver herself without soiling our family line. And Hun'ett is nothing but an usurping house spawned by a low-level matriarch of Baenre. Our blood can be traced all the way, untouched, to the Demon Queen of Spiders."

Inshalee lunged forward with a straight punch, only to have Pellanistra evade with startling grace, ducking low and catching her foot behind the Hun'ett noble's ankle. Inshalee had leaned too far forward, and the blue-eyed drowess pushed her foe's torso back as she pulled with her foot—the feat was made all the easier by Inshalee's disturbed center of gravity. The bigger girl hit the ground as though she had been sitting down, only much harder.

"Are you done taunting me?" Pellanistra demanded, crossing her arms again. "Isn't a fight what you wanted?"

"This isn't over," Inshalee growled, getting to her feet with a look so hate-filled it gave Pellanistra momentary pause. She stalked off down the hall in high temper.

Drisxena, however, seemed impressed. "It's true what they say about House Despana, then, that none of you are afraid to speak your mind," the curious drowess said as the others filtered past. "I've never seen anyone else challenge Inshalee like that."

Pellanistra shrugged, bewildered by the almost admiring tone in Drisxena's voice. "Sabafae told me a couple years ago that at Arach-Tinilith, I would be the representative for my whole house. I couldn't just sit idly by and let her say that. And it is true, about the Reverend Mother—I've never heard a cleric say anything disrespectful about her. I don't know about her having been a slave, but it takes a lot to gain that much power without a house."

"We should probably go," Drisxena said, joining Pellanistra in hurrying to their apparent classroom.

They stepped in and seemed to go blind. The room was shrouded in some form of magical darkness at present, and the others were groping their way to seats with some difficulty—there was no heat to distinguish shapes other than their fellow students by. Pellanistra found her way blindly to a chair by listening to the pained curses from her peers. It at least told her where everything at shin and toe level was at.

Once seated, she closed her eyes and relaxed, taking in her surroundings. Beneath the sounds of the other students, she could catch the faint footfalls of someone moving like a wraith through their midst without being touched. Pellanistra kept her eyes closed, turning her head to catch the sound better.

_Oh, very good. You're a smart one,_ a female voice said smoothly in her head. The young drowess jumped, eyes opening in surprise. _Don't gape so, Pellanistra Despana. It's unbecoming in a Matron's Daughter._

"How can you do that?" she asked, the others stilling slightly as though trying to figure out to whom she was speaking.

_I have my talents. _The voice was now audible to everyone as their instructor spoke. "I do apologize, students. You're early—I wasn't expecting you for another harventh. Allow me to shed some light on our present situation. And Inshalee Hun'ett, don't even think about kicking that chair. It's worth more than you are."

Pellanistra snapped her eyes shut as a clap rang out, the magical darkness vanishing suddenly as tiny motes of light near the ceiling flickered to life. The light was sudden and startling to the young females, and most of them who hadn't closed their eyes covered them now with their hands, muttering expletives at this change.

"Such language," the voice said with a sort of pleasant amusement. "Not the sort of thing I expect from future priestesses at all. Still, such things must be tolerated. Now, if all of you would care to find a seat once your vision returns?"

The girl let her eyes adjust at their leisure before studying their new teacher. Reverend Mother Zilvala was not exactly what she had expected. The angles of the other female's face were sharply defined, her frame relatively frail for a priestess's—Yasmur'ss said such things were a sign of malnourishment in youth. Unadorned adamantite piercings traced the outside curve of the cleric's ears from just below the point to the lobe, a fairly common fashion. It was her eyes that bewildered Pellanistra—milky clouds seemed to obscure her pupil and iris, turning them silver as they gazed through the gathered females. They never seemed to focus, instead sweeping around as though looking into her surroundings.

"You're blind," Inshalee said incredulously.

"My eyes do not function," Zilvala corrected, her voice soft and seeming to linger like the tone of a bell in the air. "That makes me far from blind. If you wish to put that statement to the test, I will have to ask you to leave this room, Inshalee Hun'ett. That goes for the rest of you as well."

"Yes, Reverend Mother," the class responded, not wanting to upset this woman.

"Now, my time with you will be brief today, so it's time to give you the talk that all of you need and no one else will give you," the older drowess said, standing up and slowly beginning to circle the table.

"She's a psion," Drisxena murmured to Pellanistra, only to be met by a nod.

"The time for trying and mistakes is past. As of this point, failure is not an option," Zilvala said. "Don't look so shocked, girls, you're here to become priestesses. Did you think Lolth would be forgiving if you fail one of Her tests? As a future cleric, you get no such happy illusion—the world we live in is harsh and twisted with lies, presided over by a cruel and very unsympathetic goddess. The Flesh-Carver will be shedding no tears for you when you meet the inevitable. Death is the fate of prey, the ultimate defeat that will earn you only the Spider Queen's wrath."

The class had stilled, disturbed. Zilvala read their thoughts and expressions very well before continuing. "Oh yes, you've all been told that the rules don't apply, that you're special...different from the others. The ugly truth is, almost all of you in here will lead short, brutal lives and be cut off in your prime. A few will live to be older, wiser, and amass wealth and power to complement their status—Matrons, Reverend Daughters of Lolth, perhaps even a Shadowmistress or two for Vel'Xundussa Magthere. One student every couple centuries will exceed beyond that expectation. You know the names—Myrae Faen Tlabbar, Alyaere Despana, Matron Zilthae. Like them or not, you won't be forgetting them."

Inshalee seemed to fight with herself before speaking. "Why should we believe this?"

"Ask yourself this—what motive do I have to lie? Students suffering from an illusion of grandeur waste my time. The truth is a useful tool sometimes. All of you would be wise to remember that," the Reverend Mother said. "Now, all of you may return to your rooms to meditate for tomorrow and consider this. Pellanistra Despana, you may remain after class to ask me that question of yours."

The other students filtered out obediently, leaving Pellanistra alone with her new teacher. Nervous, she stood near the door as though she expected a confrontation of some kind where she would need to flee. A sixth sense told her that if she provoked Zilvala, she would be dead before she reached the door a few feet away. "Your question?" the sightless female said, taking a seat nearby and gesturing for Pellanistra to join her.

"I thought you had already read my mind, Reverend Mother," the girl said, doing as indicated.

"That would be rude of me. Ask away."

Pellanistra took a deep breath. "Reverend Mother, what can you tell me about the Eater of Worlds?"


	12. Friends in High Places

**Author's Note: This chapter's a bit short, sorry. I just wanted to get on to the next one so quickly...and there was only so much I could do here.**

**

* * *

  
**

Zilvala was still and silent for a long moment. Pellanistra bit her lower lip, a sudden stab of anxiety flashing through her stomach. _Did I upset her?_ Suddenly, the Reverend Mother laughed, bewildering the girl. "Ah, I wondered when the nature of your dear sister's vision would reach me," the cleric said with a pleasant smile. "I will answer your question if you do something for me in return."

"Can I hear what it is before I agree to it?" Pellanistra asked.

"Ah, you're no fool. So much the better. I want you to promise me you'll stay as far from Eclavedra Maetyl as you possibly can unless you must be near her, that you'll keep your head down and remain out of her attention as much as you can. It will mean swallowing your pride on some occasions, biting your tongue on others, and downplaying your achievements, but this is the price of your information," the Reverend Mother said, steepling her fingers and leaning back in her chair.

"Why?" the blue-eyed drowess asked simply.

"Because of this," Zilvala said simply, setting a small silver coin on the arm of her chair where Pellanistra could see it. It bore the image of a spider on one side, a glyph on the other. She absorbed the girl's silence before speaking, allowing her to study it to her heart's content. "It's a promise token—identical to the one Sabafae holds. Drow give these to another when they owe some substantial favor to be called in later, or swear a personal vow. These are the only thing that holds us to our fragile word. I gave one just like this to your sister, for I owe her a great deal indeed. Yesterday, she called in that favor. I am honor bound to repay it by assisting you."

"Did the Matron tell her to?" Pellanistra asked.

"She did it of her own volition—Matron Mayna is not aware we have any more than a passing acquaintance."

"And with all due respect, what is between you and Sabafae?"

Zilvala smiled slightly. "We have an...understanding."

Pellanistra considered this for a moment before acknowledging that there would be little more information to be gleaned from the Reverend Mother. _I'll ask Sabafae._ "Who is Eclavedra Maetyl?"

The priestess's face darkened for a moment. "You've no doubt learned that Sabafae changed quite drastically during her days in the Academy, you're a smart girl. Eclavedra was responsible, in a fashion. She's an experienced priestess, a Reverend Daughter of Lolth like your sister. She'll teach you more than any sane person would wish to know, but the price for that power is too steep for you, Pellanistra. She's murderous and sadistic in her better moments. Students are toys to her, something to experiment on and manipulate."

"I promise I'll avoid her, Reverend Mother," Pellanistra said.

"Very good. Now, Shothotugg—the Eater of Worlds—is one of the few Elder Evils to reside entirely in the Material Plane. It dwells in a distant corner of the multiverse, supposedly far removed from the world...physically, anyway. Shothotugg travels through the gulfs of space between the worlds, poisoning and draining sustenance from any world on which it alights. With each destruction, the balance of fundamental force shift ever so slightly, but over time it adds up. If Sabafae's vision from Lolth indicated it, then the Eater looms precariously near in our future," Zilvala said quietly. "That is the sum of my knowledge."

Pellanistra's thoughts were in turmoil over this information, trying to fit all of this information into categories. "Thank you, Reverend Mother," she said finally, rising to go as though she expected the priestess to have no further words for her.

"Your studies should be your primary concern, Pellanistra Despana. And no, I do not understand why the aboleths and mind flayers by the Sunless Sea are cooperating with this entity, calling it here," Zilvala said brusquely. "When you have progressed further in your training, perhaps the answer will become more clear."

"Yes, Reverend Mother," the girl said with a slight bow before leaving.

"Curious," the cleric said finally, once the young drowess had departed and closed the door behind herself. Magical darkness again shrouded the room—it made no difference to Zilvala's clouded eyes. Listening to the soft whisper of sand falling through the hourglass next to her on the table, the Reverend Mother thought of the coin on her chair, picking it up again and rubbing it with her thumb. "The things we do for a friend. But she will come to know that better than any other, will she not?"

_**Quite**_, a voice breathed in her ear—or was it her mind? Zilvala wasn't entirely certain. But then, as quickly as it had come, the presence was gone.

The Reverend Mother closed her sightless eyes and rested her head back against the chair, allowing memories of distant days to play through her mind. "Yes, friends," she mused pensively, smiling slightly as she thought of her exploits with a particular crimson-eyed noble.


	13. Starting Anew

Inshalee cursed, sagging against a wall as she tried to orient herself. _I took a wrong turn somewhere,_ she thought with a fury, too tired to slam her fist against the fitted stone like she wanted to. While Pellanistra was excelling beyond all expectation, the Hun'ett girl had watched her own life slowly becoming a living hell. She knew distantly that it had only been a few months, if that, since she had first arrived—but it felt like centuries.

Potential, her teachers had said as they watched her do better and better. Inshalee had been thrilled originally, proud of the fact she would have something to please her unfeeling Matron. Nedxae was not a kind mother, prone to being cruel by sheer chance. Usually, however, she simply didn't care what her children did unless they proved themselves exceptional.

Then, like some sudden blight, the girl's potential seemed to suddenly sour. Her focus crumbled, her form grew weak, her sleeping form was haunted by nightmares. Inshalee's teachers had simply punished her for her failures as her successes began to evaporate—except for the Reverend Mother Zilvala. Even if it was weakness, she was grateful for the priestess's surprising leniency. _Does she know?_

"Are you alright?" a voice asked, suddenly near. Inshalee started, crashing forward onto her knees with a despairing cry as her legs gave way.

"Get away from me!" Inshalee snapped, vision blurring slightly as her body screamed in protest. She had lost all trust in anyone that would help her—a curse bestowed by her tormentor.

She felt them pulling her up, curling one arm around her battered ribs and slinging her arm across their shoulders to take most of her weight. Inshalee couldn't help a whimper slipping out as they brushed over knotted welts that traced along her ribs and back. "Come on," they said, voice surprisingly comforting.

The young noble didn't really have a choice, too exhausted to fight. She let her head loll against their shoulder like a ragdoll's as they piloted her down the hall with some difficulty—their room was apparently nearby. Inshalee could ascertain several things as they went: her rescuer was another student, the female was shorter than she was and slighter built, and they had very good balance. And then, as this apparent savior was wrestling with the doorknob, Inshalee blacked out.

* * *

"What was I thinking?" Pellanistra groaned, resting her forehead against the stone wall.

"Are you really going to stand there like that?" the Reverend Mother Zilvala asked with just a touch of amusement. "Where is she?"

"In the spare room. I don't have a roommate, so it's been standing empty. I gave her one of the healing potions Zezdrin packed for me and cleaned up everything it didn't take care of," the blue-eyed drowess said. "If she finds out it was me, she'll kill me."

"Why?"

Pellanistra detached from the stone long enough to look at the priestess incredulously. "She hates me! It would mean she owes me a favor."

The older female smiled slightly, tapping the small knife she was using to break seals against her chin. "That does leave you in a bit of a conundrum, since carrying her down the hall would probably be worse. No one knows you've extended any good will to Inshalee yet, which is probably best for her pride. As for your second question, I don't know what you were thinking, but this may work out for the better."

"She's going to need a second healing potion, and I only have two left," Pellanistra said with a sigh, sinking down into a chair to the side of the room and leaving Zilvala at her desk. The two were safely ensconced in the Reverend Mother's study for their talk.

"But you're going to give it to her anyway," the cleric observed. "What does this say? I can't read things on paper."

Pellanistra rose from her seat and walked over, stopping at the edge of her teacher's desk and leaning forward to read it. "Matron Zardiira wants you to look at some tablets that have just been unearthed by her house's workers when they were excavating the ruins of Lagurno—whenever is most expedient, of course. I guess House Aleval has found another artifact of significance."

"How inconvenient. I really don't have time for such projects at present."

"I'll help, then," Pellanistra offered. "How did Inshalee end up in the hall beaten half to death?"

"You just want to know about Lagurno and mind flayers," Zilvala challenged. The priestess didn't answer the question—an evasion that definitely didn't escape Pellanistra.

"Reverend Mother, you're being very like Sochsna."

"What ever do you mean?"

"You won't answer the question. I'll leave you to figure out these letters on your own, you know," the girl said, crossing her arms.

"Fine," Zilvala said irritably, waving a hand. "Do you remember the promise you made me?"

Pellanistra nodded, feeling a faint touch of smugness at getting her way. The reminder sobered her up a little, though. "Of course."

"Eclavedra has turned her sights on Inshalee. Mind you, that's just a guess. You should speak to her and see if you can learn the truth."

"Because we're old friends and confidants," Pellanistra said, voice heavy with sarcasm—she had learned it quite quickly from the Reverend Mother.

"Really? I had no idea," Zilvala said with an innocent look on her face.

"Don't you dare start."

"Ah ah, I am the fully fledged priestess in this room," the cleric said, wagging a finger at Pellanistra. "Mind your manners."

House Despana's fifth daughter stuck out her tongue at her friend, toeing the line they had drawn in unspoken agreement. "And in a few years I'll be one too, _Zil_."

"You're as bad as Sabafae," Zilvala grumbled, pushing the younger female away from her desk. There was a hint of amusement in her expression though. "Stick that tongue out again, and I'll pull it out. Go talk to Inshalee, and I'll send an answer in the affirmative to Matron Zardiira with an additional request for any other artifacts reclaimed from Lagurno and their findings about the city. She's not going to refuse me, and you can study it until your eyes bleed. Begone, pest."

"Good day to you too," Pellanistra said with a grin before taking off out into the hall. "Thanks, Zilvala!"

* * *

Inshalee heard the sounds of footsteps around the room before she even opened her eyes, ears pricking slightly. "...xund Shi'nintra xund T'risslin xund Alaunlay xund Chesseari xund Vasthara xund Lolthu," they were murmuring, finishing their genealogy. Inshalee could remember being forced to recite her own, feeling her sister's snakewhip every time she stumbled or forgot a name. But those names were definitely not from her house.

"Despana?" she demanded incredulously, rolling onto her side. Pellanistra finished folding a towel up before turning to her guest. "What in the Demonweb...?"

"There's a healing potion on the table for you," the blue-eyed drowess said. "I wouldn't try to move around too much until after I drank it if I were you."

"Why?" Inshalee said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. There was complete non-comprehension in her eyes. "Why?"

Pellanistra sat down on the edge of the bed, thinking it over. "I don't really know," she admitted finally. "You needed help."

"We're blood enemies," Inshalee protested as she sat up, the words sounding weak in her own ears.

"I wasn't thinking about that," the smaller girl said with a shrug. She looked at Inshalee with an emotion in her face the Hun'ett girl didn't understand. Pellanistra only knew because of her discussions with Zilvala—not pity, but a strange feeling called compassion. What happened next surprised them both.

Inshalee dissolved into tears, her entire body shaking with the force of agonized sobs. In the grips of another foreign emotion—empathy—Pellanistra put an arm around the crying drowess's shoulders. She could sense the damage done on the periphery of the taller drowess's mind, and she felt an unfamiliar surge of anger. She wanted to find Eclavedra and hurt her, for both Sabafae's sake and Inshalee's.

Eventually there were no more tears left for the Hun'ett girl to cry and she told Pellanistra the whole of it. The blue-eyed drowess said nothing despite the way her blood burned, simply listening like Inshalee needed. When the tale of her nightmarish encounters with Reverend Daughter Eclavedra was concluded, a hush descended for several long moments.

"You can have this room," Pellanistra said finally, standing up. "She won't know where you're staying, at least for a while. That'll give you enough time to catch up in lessons—I'll help, and Reverend Mother Zilvala will too, I'm sure."

"Why are you doing this?" Inshalee asked.

Pellanistra shrugged. "It's what Zezdrin would do—what Sabafae would have done," she said after a thoughtful pause. "I'll have to ask my family for more healing potions, though."

"But—" Inshalee started to protest.

The fifth daughter of House Despana whirled around and glared at her fiercely. "If the word 'enemy' comes out of your mouth, I swear I'll hurt you."

The injured noble blinked slightly, surprised and a little afraid of being hit. "I...we're not, then?"

"Looks like it," Pellanistra said, relaxing with a small grin. "Sorry."

The Hun'ett girl shook her head slightly as the other girl padded out to go think. _What are we then?_ Inshalee wondered, until her brain wandered back to her childhood and that taboo word. _Impossible! A Hun'ett has no friends._ She smiled slightly before laying down again, happy for the first time in her life that she was wrong.


	14. The Wearer of Flesh

Matron Zardiira Aleval was alone in her study, perusing the reports she had received. _Miners vanishing. Damn it—Tuin'Tarl has something to do with it, don't they? _She frowned slightly. _Odd, only south and west. Well,I'm supposed to see Revered Sabafae today anyway, and the city's protection is Despana's business._

There was a knock on the door, and the Matron rose to answer the irritating interruption. She knew it couldn't be Sabafae—their meeting was soon, but the priestess was not one to be early. "What in the nine hells do you wa—" she started to say, before seeing who it was. "Oh, it's you."

And then Zardiira's eyes went very wide, mouth opening in a wordless scream.

* * *

"Matron, you have a dead drow on your floor," Sabafae said by way of announcing her presence, stepping over the fallen male drow. She vaguely recognized him, but couldn't recall who he was—Zardiira's Patron, perhaps, or a son. It didn't matter much to her, though the massive gaping hole in his chest did lead to some interesting questions.

"Yes, I do. Your point, Revered Sabafae?"

"Just making conversation," Sabafae said absently, examining the injury out of curiosity. _No nerves. That's very strange._

"I did call you here for something more than just idle conversation," Zardiira interjected. Sabafae looked up, expression dangerous.

"You requested my presence, you did not call me. Matron Zardiira, your manners are slipping," the priestess said with a touch of steel in her tone. She took a seat across from the older female, letting her hand rest on her snake whip below the surface of the desk and well out of the Matron's view. Sabafae felt a prickling sensation run up her spine—something was wrong.

"Is House Despana going to be doing anything about this supposed mind flayer city?" Zardiira asked.

"Matron Mayna is preparing forces," Sabafae said blandly. "I couldn't say when she intends to make a move."

"Perhaps this is a matter best turned over to the council," House Aleval's matron said. "Open warfare against mind flayers is suicide, and we may have better luck with other methods."

"Despana has been given the power to move independently of the council and we have every intention of doing so. Zilthae's methods are still known to us—mind flayers are not a problem," the priestess said. Sabafae leaned back in her seat slightly, steepling her fingers and assuming a judicial expression. Her suspicion was definitely aroused now, although she couldn't place what Zardiira had to gain by delaying.

Her eyes flickered to the Matron's throat as something seemed to move unnaturally. There was nothing out of the ordinary when Sabafae focused, but goosebumps bloomed on the priestess's arms all the same. Everything was not as it should have been. She made another ploy. "Do you have my payment for me?"

"Payment?" Zardiira said, seeming to be thoroughly baffled.

"The emeralds we agreed on after my services," Sabafae said, an edge of impatience creeping into her tone. In truth, Sabafae wasn't the least bit angry—Zardiira had already repaid her, though not with emeralds. However, she knew the Matron was holding some for House Despana as compensation for reclaiming stolen goods from Tuin'Tarl.

"Yes, of course," the powerful cleric said, regaining her senses and reaching into the desk to produce a black cloth bag. Sabafae felt a chill run through her body. This was not Matron Zardiira. "The amount we agreed on. I assume you'll wish to look to verify it?"

The priestess found herself staring into the other female's slightly glazed eyes. "I don't know if I have the time. There's a rite at the Fane I just remembered," Sabafae said, taking the bag. _How the hell do I get out of this? _"I do hope you can forgive my rudeness."

Not-Zardiira seemed to realize the game was up, and lunged forward across the desk, seizing Sabafae's wrist. The priestess dropped the emeralds, pushing off from the desk with her feet—the move sent her and her seat crashing back to the ground, but it tore her free of the other female's grip.

Sabafae rolled free of the chair and sprang up onto her feet with an agility inspired by unadulterated fear. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as Not-Zardiira stalked closer, a slim stiletto blade in hand. "Surprising, Revered Sabafae, you found me out," she hissed. "But so much the better—your flesh will be of greater use."

The priestess grabbed the holy symbol of Lolth she always wore around her neck, pulling it off and holding it out just as her foe closed the distance. It ignited with the fury of the Flesh-Carver, striking the false Matron with uncontrollable terror and forcing her to instantly recoil.

The signs were easier to see now: the slight distending of the older drowess's abdomen, the odd snakelike cordings bunched almost imperceptibly under her skin—Sabafae's lips formed a mute O. And then something started to emerge from Zardiira's back, shedding her body more gracefully than it had left the male's.

It was some kind of creature, resembling a tangled mess of knotted ropes. Dozens of thin but strong tentacles made up its body—little more than a thickening and joining of its multiple limbs—each studded with small, sharp, sickle-like black claws. The drowess could barely make out the small, dark orbs that were the aberration's eyes. Indigo blue mottled with lighter blue on top, she couldn't see much of its underside. But she could see its mouth, a round, lamprey-like orifice opening as it came towards her.

Sabafae hurled a bolt of divine energy at the creature—more a revulsion reaction than some planned attempt on the creature. It let out a screech and sprang, curling its body around hers. The thing was heavier than she expected, its body mass about two feet long with strands as long as eight feet. It was more like having a mass of steel cable curled around her than normal tentacles, she soon found as she tried to hack the monster off before it shredded her to ribbons with its hooks. In response, it tightened around her, slowly constricting with its barbs digging in to dose her with poison.

The priestess's vision started to blur, and in desperation she prayed to Lolth, invoking the Spider Queen's name to strengthen her spell. The power came in a rush, a gift from the Flesh-Carver. The creature released her with an unearthly shriek, shooting towards the door. Sabafae went stumbling after it, only to see guards converging on her and the creature. The priestess pulled herself together enough to point at it and scream, "Tsochari!"

And then, all hell broke loose.

* * *

"A lone one?" Zezdrin asked, dabbing at the deep gashes on Sabafae's cheek. The priestess winced as she nodded but didn't snap at him—the poison had left her very weak, and she appreciated the fact her brother was doing his best to be gentle.

"A spy, then," Malagzar said thoughtfully. "Or some form of manipulator. The tsochari equivalent of Yasmur'ss."

"Pity it got away," Sabafae growled.

"Hold still, it left a bit of barb in your shoulder," Zezdrin said. His older sister complied, feebly grabbing hold of the arm that was pinning her shoulder to the bed as he drew it out—though just lifting her limbs an inch was almost impossible. "There, nice and easy. By the way, have you gotten any strength back anywhere in your body?"

"None," she groaned.

"The poison will be rendering you quite feeble for the next couple days, if my research is correct," Vornas said, stroking his goatee pensively. "It put quite a lot into you—I think it was expecting more of a resistance."

"Hmph." Sabafae was not at all pleased with the news.

"I thought it was funny as hell when you got swept off your feet by the thing, sister," the wizard said with a grin. There had been some struggle with it after her two brothers and the Patron showed up.

"If I could move, Vornas," Sabafae snarled. He smirked and made a face at her.

"It's going to be half a week before you can even move around and perform a rite. I'm not too worried," her brother said.

Zezdrin frowned at his younger sibling. "Vornas, don't antagonize Sabafae—we have bigger things to worry about...like this tsochari. It's probably quite safe to assume the mind flayers or aboleths engaged its service, especially with what Sabafae has told us thus far."

Malagzar nodded sagely, then rose. "I will bring this to the Matron's attention. Sabafae, when you go to Arach-Tinilith tomorrow, warn Pellanistra. There might be other Wearers of Flesh around," the Patron said somberly before striding out and leaving his children to their own devices.


	15. The Resting Place

"Found it!" Pellanistra said triumphantly. She read aloud, " 'The thirtieth year of Matron Mother Zilthae Despana's reign and the Fall of Lagurno as dictated by the Matron to her faithful scribe Nokt the Goblin'."

"Shh!" Inshalee hissed in a low voice. "Someone's coming. I have some maps of Lagurno here."

"So what if someone's coming?" the blue-eyed drowess said, glancing around at the tall shelves.

"This section of Arach-Tinilith's records is open only to the most powerful of priestesses," her friend muttered.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew! I thought—" Inshalee snapped, but she was cut off before she could say anything further. Pellanistra had covered her friend's mouth with one hand, and was listening intently, while the taller female was forced to do the same.

"...Students here?" a strangely accented voice said, all too familiar to Inshalee. The girl went still as death at its sound.

"Apparently," Reverend Mother Zilvala said. "Matron Nedxae is not going to be happy. This is an interesting section for them to be looking in—it's the dullest set of histories I've ever seen."

"You don't think...?"

"Impossible," the blind priestess said sharply. She softened her voice before continuing, "And even if these girls did find it, the record has never told anyone where anything was. It will be of no help, Eclavedra."

There was a soft snort. "What if it's this Despana child and Nedxae's daughter? You told me they were both intelligent enough to be hazardous," Eclavedra said. Pellanistra closed her eyes as the footsteps stopped, almost consumed by the growing anger that burned like molten lead in her veins. The last time she had felt like this was when Inshalee insulted her family.

"Be still," Zilvala hissed, her voice more dangerous than they had ever heard. "Do you think Sochsna and the others will be pleased you started blurting out things about Pellanistra at random? No one else is supposed to know about her involvement."

"She came to you asking about the Eater. She knows," the other priestess hissed. Inshalee had grabbed her friend's arm and tried to pull her away as silently as possible.

"She knows nothing," Zilvala said. "And as soon as she loses her protector, she'll be easy to take care of."

"Sabafae?" Eclavedra said aloud, echoing Pellanistra's thoughts aloud.

"Let's go," Inshalee whispered in the shorter drowess's ear. "Any longer and we'll be caught. Bring the book and I'll take the maps."

Pellanistra forced herself to nod, padding off with her friend to the maze of hallways that made up Arach-Tinilith's lower levels. At the door of the library, they heard a screech of rage that lent wings to their heels as they started a mad dash of random turns and twists through the tunnels, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Academy without really realizing it. They could hear pursuit gaining on them.

"Here!" Pellanistra whispered urgently, grabbing Inshalee by the wrist and practically diving behind a statue of a female drow. The two landed in a tangled, wincing heap behind the back of the pedestal and the rear wall of the alcove the stone figure was set in. They didn't dare peek out from their hiding place, and listened to the two cursing priestesses pass by.

Inshalee sorted out her limbs and moved so she was laying next between Pellanistra and the marble base. "Never again."

"Inshalee, there's writing on this wall," Pellanistra murmured, tracing her fingers over the script. She could feel it, but it was too dark to read the characters so faintly scratched into the stone. At one time they had been deep, very deep, but time had worn them down to almost nothing.

Her friend conjured up a small ball of light. It was nothing impressive—just a gray, grainy, graveyard sort of glow—but it revealed that the letters were too eroded to even read. "Damn, now I want to know what it says," the Hun'ett girl grumbled.

"I know what it says," Pellanistra said. She pointed to the book that had been torn out of her hands when they fell, and had landed half a foot away, open to a page.

"A thousand praises to the Demon Queen of Spiders for looking out for us," Inshalee said with a grin. It faded away when she read the page. "Perhaps I spoke too soon."

_The mistress is being taken from me, despite all the spells the clerics have tried. This illness eats her away from inside, drives her once keen mind to the Shadowland where it wanders for days. The strength has been bled from the mistress's body, the light is gone from her sky-shaded eyes. Her silver voice is nothing but a whisper now, and jackals circle with only her daughter to fend them away. I do not understand why the Demon Queen would do this to her favored daughter, but in her moments of wakefulness she scolds both Vasayne and I for such questions. She called both of us to her bedside today, with instructions that puzzled us both._

_She has refused to have her bones laid with those of her ancestor's. She claims someday, when she is worthy of that privilege, a child of her blood will carry them to where they belong. Until then, she says, I must stand as a silent sentinel, a guardian of what fate has wrought. And then she tells me to write this, both in stone and ink:_

_Twelve, three hundred, and three score years_

_All that remains are frozen tears_

_Skip, step, stone_

_The secret is in the bone_

_In daytime I lie pooled about,_

_At night I cloak like mist_

_I creep inside shut boxes and_

_Inside your tightened fist._

_You see me best when you can't see_

_For I do not exist._

_Whomever solves this riddle, the Mistress says, will find what it is they seek. This is the end, I think, of my writing, and at Vasayne's instruction tomorrow I will take it to Arach-Tinilith._

_--Nokt the Goblin, 1512 A.E., Fourth Cycle of Alatrae_

"Damn it all," Inshalee growled with frustration. "I'm not sure who to be angry with—Zilthae or that damn goblin."

"We have time. With Eclavedra and Zilvala in the halls, we can't go back to our room," Pellanistra pointed out.

"Fine," her friend said grumpily, settling down and staring at the stone. She made her hand into a fist, then opened it up again. "Nothing there."

"Exactly. It doesn't exist," Pellanistra said. The young drowess laid down and closed her eyes. " 'You see me best when you can't see'."

"You don't see anything but dark when you can't see," Inshalee grumbled.

"Darkness!" the Despana noble said, so ecstatic she forgot to keep her voice low. Her friend made a desperate shushing gesture, only to stop at a faint whispering sound. An eerie blue glow was emanating from runes on the stone behind the statue. Inshalee kicked at the stone with her foot, and a panel about two feet tall and three feet in wide fell back with a crash.

"Uh, I thought it was going to be quieter," she said by way of tentative apology. Pellanistra crawled through the hole without a word, pupils dilating to their maximum size to accommodate the absolute lack of light. Even with a drow's darkvision, this place was almost impossible to see in. She kept wriggling through the cramped passage, with Inshalee cursing and following close behind.

Eventually the tunnel widened and the ceiling rose, allowing the two girls to stand and approach a sealed metal door of some kind. "How long has it been since Zilthae died, anyway?" Inshalee asked absently as they neared the fastened portal.

"About three hundred and seventy years, I think," the other girl said, reaching out to touch the iron. She could feel the chill radiating out from the pitted surface into her hand. "It's cold."

Inshalee nodded. "I bet it's sealed with a spell. Probably not something too powerful, though. Stand back."

Pellanistra obeyed, moving back and allowing her friend to chant incantation after incantation trying vainly to open it. Glowing script appeared on the door, and the Hun'ett noble read it with a bewildered look on her face. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a form of drow," the blue-eyed drowess explained. "When T'risse restored our house to life, she created a specific script unique to our house, so that we could protect information in times of warfare. It's a very closely guarded secret."

"Well what does it say?" Inshalee demanded, crossing her arms and turning to glare at her smiling friend.

"Something along the lines of 'this door is locked to Hun'ett whelps'," Pellanistra said, almost laughing at the look on her companion's face. She stood up and went over to the door, pressing her palms and forehead to it, whispering softly to the iron.

The metal murmured back, a faint buzz so low it was almost out of the range of drow hearing. Inshalee could feel it resonate in her teeth and bones. And then, ever so slowly, the great door creaked open, metal grating against stone as weights that hadn't moved in almost four centuries shifted to grant them passage.

Pellanistra felt a shiver run down her spine, more excitement than fear. She could feel power flowing into her from the stone, a slight luminescence gathering around her. A slight breeze stirred the air behind her, and she could feel a phantom hand on her shoulder, some strange presence lingering close. **_You can feel it, can't you?_** A soft voice whispered in her ear. **_This place is ours._**

"Who are you?" the girl asked, not daring to turn around. Somehow, someone was speaking so that only she could hear, though she felt no intrusion like she had with Zilvala.

The presence did not answer right away, their chilling touch still on her shoulder. Finally, they spoke again. **_I have been waiting for you for a very long time, Pellanistra._**


	16. Set Up

"Pellanistra, what is it?" Inshalee asked, bewildered by the stiffness in her friend's stance and the way she was mumbling. The drowess could see a the faint, almost phosphorescent glow surrounding her friend and closed one eye, staring intently. She could see the spirit now, with one hand on her friend's shoulder, lips moving slightly as it spoke in the girl's ear. "Shit!"

**_Yes, I know your name. I knew of your coming long before your conception, _**the ghost said as Pellanistra turned to look at her. **_No one ever realized those writings were for you._**

"Matron Zilthae," Pellanistra breathed reverentially, looking into features she had only seen carved in stone. A spectral hand brushed ineffectively at a strand of hair in her face, as though trying to push it behind the young drowess's ear. The girl tucked it back, bewildered by the dead female's warm smile.

_**You look so like Vasayne, my little girl. I shouldn't say that, I suppose—she's long gone now, dead by her conniving Patron's hand. But yes, I've waited for you. **_

"Why?" the young drowess asked.

_**Didn't you read Nokt's writings? I cannot rest until my bones mingle with those of my family, until I have been laid to rest where I belong. And besides, you are the fulfillment of the Handmaiden's words—she told me that before I went to whatever awaits me next, Lolth would show me the future of the drow. And here it is. But come. We can talk after you have seen what you wish to see.**_

"I'll wait here," Inshalee said, watching the ghost drift through the yawning opening and beckon to her friend. "I really don't want to know what's beyond that darkness."

Pellanistra flashed her friend a smile. "I'll try not to be too long."

"Just don't die, okay?"

"Somehow, I don't think she's going to kill me," the shorter girl said, rolling her eyes before vanishing into the dark.

Pellanistra groped her way through the shadowy passage, following the faint glow of her ancestor. Zilthae merely floated ahead serenely until the hall cut into the living stone gave way to a cavern lit by ancient globes of dim blue luminescence—more than enough to see by.

Gold coins glimmered on the floor beneath a shallow pool of crystal clear water that went from one end of the cavern to the other. Emeralds, rubies, and similar precious stones were scattered throughout, beside stone tablets engraved with alien scripts and gleaming blades. The girl was certain her eyes were round with surprise. **_Beautiful, isn't it? The treasures Lagurno had to offer are all here, wealth beyond imagining in the deepest part of the pool. This water will drown those who dare take it for themselves—a curse darker than any within Arach-Tinilith's walls haunts these things with madness. That is why they are sunk here._**

"What about your bones? I have to take them to our family's mausoleum," Pellanistra said with conviction. She was surprised she felt so strongly about it at first, but it made sense—to be punished by undeath seemed a cruel end for one of Despana's greatest Matrons.

The ghost's beautiful features smiled. **_In good time you will see them. They are across the pool. _**Zilthae extended her hand. **_Come with me. You must trust me, or you will fall and never arise from the waters. The drow will die with you._**

"I'm not that important," Pellanistra said, taking the ghost's proffered hand. It was difficult to describe the feeling, as though she were clinging to smoke with a desperate tenacity—smoke that had somehow become almost solid. Zilthae's fingers seemed imagined, so fragile that if the girl dared breath wrong they would vanish without a trace.

The water was like smooth glass when she stepped onto it, ripples moving out from her feet to brush faintly against the stony shores. The bottom fell away after they were ten feet out, plummeting into a darkness broken only by the slight glitter of wealth lost to the depths.

_**Be wary you are not too drawn in—death mixes freely with greed here.**_

"Sorry. It's just so beautiful," Pellanistra said, shaking her head to clear it of the mist that had gathered like a shroud over her thoughts.

_**As beautiful as the grave. **_

Pellanistra squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't be tempted or distracted, allowing her ancestor to lead her over the glassy surface of the water without incident to the shelf of stone jutting out from the wall.

As soon as her feet touched stone, stirring a little rock, she opened her eyes again. "Your bones," Pellanistra murmured. True enough, on a large basalt shelf lay a complete skeleton, arms crossed over its chest in repose. The soft tissues were gone leaving only the smooth bone underneath, the cloth rotted away as well.

Water had dripped down from the ceiling onto the grinning skull, leaving chalky mineral deposits behind as it coursed its way what would have been Zilthae's cheeks, over time forming marks that looked like tears.

" 'All that remains are frozen tears'," the girl quoted, walking forward.

**_True, true, _**the ghost said with a sigh. Seeing her bones seemed to make the dead Matron wistful and depressed. Zilthae seemed to snap out of her brief reverie and drifted forward to Pellanistra's side. **_Three hundred and seventy two years since I died, and so quickly did my body leave me. But that's not the point. There are two things here I want you to have._**

"But...I don't need anything," Pellanistra protested, surprised. She didn't want to take anything from her ghostly ancestor or her body—it seemed somehow rude.

**_They're tools you will need, I think, _**Zilthae said gently, running her translucent blue fingers over the sword laying on the basalt table by her bones. **_Take the sword, and the ring that's with my bones. _**

Pellanistra tried not to shudder as she reached out and eased a bone ring loosely on one of the skeleton's fingers, sliding it onto her own. Runes flashed on its surface for a moment, and then were gone. The band seemed oddly warm for something she had just taken off a dead form. The sword was easy for her to lift, and after digging around on the shelf she could find a baldric to wear that would hold it on her back—leaving both hands free to deal with Zilthae's bones.

The girl pulled down the threadbare battle standard of House Despana that hung limply on the cavern wall, laying it flat on the ground and gently moving her ancestor's skeleton piece by piece to the cloth. It was time consuming to get everything and have a skeleton mostly in tact, but that was what mattered and Pellanistra did her best. Zilthae hovered nearby with apprehension, expression blissful only when she thought of the girl's success.

After about ten minutes, when Pellanistra was about a third of the way done, Zilthae's specter frowned. **_Someone's coming!_**

**_

* * *

  
_**

A terrible feeling had sent Sabafae running through the streets of Yvoth-Lened. The priestess had paid little heed to the people she bowled over, inspired by a fear that something had happened to Pellanistra. She skidded in through the gate, oblivious to the muffled curses behind her, and dashed across the grounds even though her breath was coming in sobs for air.

The girl wasn't in her room, nor in the Library when she looked. Legs and lungs burning, the priestess started through the halls without thinking about where she was going. She bumped into someone else walking, but as soon as she saw who it was, her face split into a relieved smile.

"Zilvala, thank the Goddess. Have you seen my sister? Do you know where she is?"

The Reverend Mother shook her head, making a slight hand signal that Sabafae didn't even see. Concern seemed to have filled the blind priestess's face. "No, I've been looking for the past two hours. She's nowhere above, so I thought I'd try down here again. I'll go with you, though."

Sabafae nodded her thanks before starting to run down the passageway again, Zilvala and someone else trailing in her wake unnoticed.

Nearly a harventh—half a surface hour—of searching proved useless, and Sabafae's knees hit the stone by a statue of her ancestor Zilthae set into an alcove tucked back into the wall. She tried to catch her breath, exhausted. Her first run had taken her over at least half the city, after all, and the continuation took her up and down dozens of stairs both inside and outside of the Academy.

She stared blankly at the statue's feet, trying to think of some place she might have overlooked. And there, on the periphery of her vision, she caught sight of the hole. Sabafae slipped around behind it, reaching down to pick up Pellanistra's dropped house insignia. The priestess would have been triumphant were it not for the gnawing fear in her heart. Zilvala and her companion caught up just in time to see Sabafae vanish through the tunnel.

"We're going after her," the Revered Mother said staunchly, sensing Eclavedra's hesitation.

"It'd be easier to just wait here," the other priestess shot back.

"We've got a better chance of taking them by surprise there. She'll think we waited here," Zilvala said, starting to crawl after the noble of House Despana. There was a snort from Eclavedra, but she did follow the higher ranking priestess into the dark, narrow passage.


	17. Intentions

Pellanistra tensed and turned at the sound of someone running towards her, relaxing only when Sabafae emerged from the darkness. The priestess didn't stop at the water's edge, crashing onward with a splash. The girl could see thousands upon thousands of spirits in the water with hollow eyes that burned like coals and grasping fingers outstretched to pull Sabafae to the bottom. She skittered forward over the glassy surface, reaching out with her hand. "Sabafae, quick!"

The priestess stretched up, allowing her sister to grab her wrist and pull her up onto the surface of the water. "What sorcery is this?" the cleric asked, bewildered by the fact she was now standing next to Pellanistra on the surface.

"I don't know," Pellanistra said. She cocked her head slightly at her sister. "Why are you here?"

"I...there was this feeling I had that something terrible was happening to you. That you were in danger. I couldn't just stand idly by, now could I?"

"Why not?" the girl asked. "But it doesn't matter—please, help me with Zilthae's bones. We have to take them to the family resting place."

Sabafae had obviously read the same passages as Pellanistra had, but with less luck in actually finding the place. "The Matron's bones? Here?"

Pellanistra nodded and started back to the shelf-island where the standard held Zilthae's skeleton, keeping hold of her sister to stop her from plunging to the bottom. A thought struck her and she half smiled. "Sabafae, can you even swim?"

Her sister looked at her suspiciously for a moment before grudgingly answering, "Not really, no. I can tread water."

"Then why did you decide to swim the gap?"

"I wasn't thinking clearly. Now be still," Sabafae snapped. Pellanistra wisely held her peace and set to work on finishing her task with her sister's assistance.

It only took them around ten more minutes to get the skeleton assembled, wrapped up, and carried across the water. And then, suddenly, everything changed.

Sabafae whirled around and shoved Pellanistra towards the water—though it made her stumble into where her sister had been standing, releasing her hold on Zilthae's bones and sending them scattering to the ground. The girl was positive she was going to die, until she hit the still-solid surface of the pool. There was a horrible crunching noise, and the next thing she knew Sabafae was impaled.

The iron lance had come out of nowhere, arcing at where Pellanistra had been and where Sabafae now stood. She had only had enough time to turn, and then it took her through the chest with an inhuman speed, sinking solidly into the cavern's stone floor. Sabafae's back arched like a bow, the very thing that had struck her holding up her torso as the highest point. The priestess's hands clutched at it, trying to keep herself up.

"Well, one Despana whelp is just as good as the other," Eclavedra said philosophically, stepping into the light while holding a battered but still struggling Inshalee by the arm. "Nice throw."

Zilvala was the next to emerge, dusting the residue from arcane reagents off her hands before moving over to her former friend. "I'm sorry, Sabafae, normally the spike would be red-hot, but then it would have stopped the bleeding and you might have lived. Does it hurt?"

Sabafae managed a chuckle, blood gurgling out of her mouth and into a rivulet at the corner of her mouth that drained to the floor. "Not so much as knowing who threw it it," the priestess said. "Why are you doing this?"

"You were in my way," Zilvala said simply, gently prying her friend's fingers from the shaft.

The priestess managed to stop her fall, pulling herself up with the last of her swiftly dwindling strength. Sabafae spat, hitting Zilvala full in the face with blood. Th Reverend Mother cursed and stumbled back, pulling a square of spidersilk from a hidden pocket in her robes to wipe away the offending substance. "Defiant to the end, Sabafae. How very...Despana of you. No doubt your mother would be very proud. But I'm done with you."

Pellanistra had just gotten to her feet and regained her senses when she was knocked back down by a blow from the Reverend Mother, sending the sword crashing into the shallows. Her lip split when it hit her teeth, flooding her mouth with a coppery taste. She was too out of it to know it was blood.

"Why are you doing this, Zilvala?" Pellanistra asked, struggling to her feet.

Her betrayer laughed, a colder and crueler sound than that first day they had met. "Because I hate the drow and Lolth, Pellanistra, and this sick world we've created for ourselves," Zilvala said with an almost friendly smile beneath clouded eyes gleaming with unnatural light.

"But you're her priestess," the girl whispered, stumbling back and reaching for anything to defend herself.

"Oh, I pay lip service to Lolth—I sacrificed hundreds in the name and cause of a goddess I have come to despise. But what female would dare do otherwise? This game we play, the lies we spin, they have nothing to do with the Bitch Queen of Spiders and everything to do with power for its own sake. Long, long ago, when the darkness first took our people, something in the hearts and minds of female drow snapped. It wasn't Lolth that changed us. We simply realized that there is only one thing in this world that truly matters—power."

"That's a lie!"

"Pellanistra, Pellanistra," Zilvala said chidingly, advancing towards her retreating student. "Ask your sisters and mother—what makes the world go 'round? Power. What do we kill, connive, lie, and cheat for? Power. What does every drow dream of but power over other drow? We're a simple race at our core, not so complicated and mysterious as sages would like to think. Deep down, we're all ambition, pride, and greed. Some of us are undeniably more brilliant than others in our methods, but the priestess who betrays whole houses is after the exact same thing as the ha'penny mercenary. And if Lolth gave a goblin's ass about the drow and her clergy, I'd be dead or a drider."

The girl felt her back hit the stone wall, and frantically tried to think of something to distract Zilvala while coming up with a strategy—and maybe a weapon. _Must keep her talking..._A light flashed on in the girl's mind. "What about Sabafae? She was your friend!"

"I realized at our graduation I had lost the Sabafae I knew forever. She had become the priestess everyone expected her to be, the shadow of what she could have been," Zilvala said. There seemed to be a touch of genuine regret in her face. "I really admired her once."

"So what is this, trying to save her by killing her?" Pellanistra demanded, her fingers digging into the looser earth around a loose chunk of rock. _Check and mate._

Zilvala snorted. "Even I cannot undo what's been done. She's beyond redemption now, her Rubicon crossed—the only kindness I can offer her is a quick death. But I do owe her my thanks, I suppose. She is the one who opened my eyes, after all."

"What do you mean?" Pellanistra asked, wiggling the rock free and keeping it hidden behind her back as the priestess stalked forward.

"Your sister encouraged me to find my calling in the more...advanced levels of arcane magic. In my studies of the planes, I inadvertently encountered a portal to the Far Realms, and the dark beings of that plane. An experience so horrific, so mind-breaking in its scope taught me how weak we really were, how weak even Lolth herself is in the face of greater evils. What better way to ensure my survival and eventual triumph than to align myself with them?"

"You're mad," Pellanistra said. Zilvala saw her arm twitch and lunged forward, only to be struck by a rock just above one ear.

"I am not insane!" the Reverend Mother hissed, reeling back and clutching at her ragged wound. "Selfish, bloodthirsty, and unscrupulous, yes, but very much a rational being."

The Despana noble was suddenly on the offensive, closing the distance with Zilvala and grabbing the Reverend Mother's robes before she could draw a weapon. "At least I know when Sabafae murders people, it's out of devotion to Lolth, to an ideal greater than herself," Pellanistra snapped. "Or when T'risskacha and Zezdrin lead our forces against another House, it's because they were our enemies. But you...you...is there nothing in this world that means more to you than your own advancement?"

"That's what is expected of a priestess, Pellanistra. A fact you'll become very familiar with by the time your schooling is done," Zilvala said, a wry grin on her face. "There is a darkness greater than Lolth that is nearing, that will swallow up this world in eternal shadow, and no one will be spared—not even those who welcome its coming. We are all about to get what we deserve."

"What you deserve, maybe," Pellanistra said, searching her teacher's face. "I'd like to think there's something in this world worth protecting. I hope Lolth has mercy on your soul."

The girl hooked her foot behind Zilvala's ankle just as she once had with Inshalee, only this time the push was much more powerful—enough to send the Reverend Mother crashing into the pool. Pellanistra stood on the water's edge, watching in silence as thousands of spectral hands reached up and pulled Zilvala irresistibly into the depths. The last she ever saw of her teacher was the other female's mouth open in the mute O of a silent scream lost below the surface.

Inshalee shot forward, grabbing her friend before Pellanistra could collapse forward into the pool that had just claimed the Reverend Mother. "Pel, we really need to have a talk about your after-curfew hobbies," the Hun'ett noble grunted, pulling her friend back. "I think it's time to go."

"Sabafae," Pellanistra mumbled, twisting out of her friend's grip and running to her sister. The priestess was still alive, her last breaths postponed by some desperate prayers and divine magic.

"I had to know if you won," her sister managed, smile twisted into a horrific grimace. "Pella..."

The girl grabbed her sister's arm, and something seemed to pull Pellanistra out of her own body. She looked over to see Zilthae's hand on her shoulder. "Oh, Goddess...am I a ghost too?" the girl asked, looking down to see she was as translucent as her ancestor.

"No, thankfully. But if you want to change this, you have to do what Alyaere did," Zilthae said with a sad smile.

"Anything. This is all my fault. Just tell me what I'm doing."

"You, dear, are going to have to change fate itself," the ghost said. She reached out and touched Pellanistra's forehead with two fingers, sending her spiraling into the depths. "Good luck."


	18. The Web

**Author's Note: I'm not so happy with the first part of the chapter. I'll re-write it and see if I can somehow make it better, but I don't know how I'm going to fix it just yet. If you don't like it, feel free to say so, but please keep reading. It improves later...I think.**

* * *

The first thing Pellanistra experienced in the darkness was cold, bitter cold that pierced like a thousand burning needles to her bones. The next was hitting a web.

"Ow," the girl groaned, rolling onto her back. She didn't understand how she wasn't sticking, but she wasn't about to complain. And then she froze, looking down.

Beneath her, beyond the delicate strands of the web, was a starless void beyond the depths of all imagining. Pellanistra would have panicked, except the glands she needed for that were quite a ways away...somewhere. She turned her attention to the web, scrutinizing it. On closer inspection, it revealed itself to be possibilities, billions upon billions twining together to form a single strand of life. In turn, the lives twisted around each other when different individuals shared the same fate, converging upon a single source in the middle—the Weaver. She didn't understand where this knowledge came from, but she knew she was near Sabafae's.

The girl crawled across the web with extreme care to avoid falling, fingers finally brushing against Sabafae's fading thread of life. Pellanistra gently took hold of two loose strands from the fraying end and started to unwind them, a vision of the event that had just occurred playing through her mind—only backwards. A strange hum filled her mind as she rewound the threads, and then there was a brilliant flash. The silvery, slightly glowing strand was whole again, coursing onwards towards the point of convergence as it had been before.

Pellanistra lost her grip, plummeting into the freezing void until all light was but a memory, all hope a distant dream. She closed her eyes, fearing for the worst.

"Pel, what the hell did you just do?" Inshalee's voice suddenly rang out, and the girl felt hands shaking her shoulders. "Wake up, damn it!"

"Huh?" the Despana noble murmured, opening her blue eyes blearily. She was looking up at her friend, sprawled out on the cave floor. It was warm after the abyss she had fallen into.

"One minute, your sister was impaled through the chest and certifiably dead, the next there was some weird ripple and the air turned viscous for a moment, and then she was alive with the thing through her shoulder," the Hun'ett girl said, letting go of her friend and rocking back onto her heels.

"I don't know?" Pellanistra said groggily, half question and half statement. Her eyes drifted shut again as she tried to soak in the warmth of her surroundings and the surprising comfort she found in Inshalee's irritated voice.

There was a grunt from nearby, and then she felt someone's hand shake her shoulder. "Pellanistra, get up. We need to leave. Eclavedra is gone, but if we linger she may return with other unpleasant people," Sabafae's voice said.

"Five more minutes," the girl groaned, throwing her arms up over her eyes. She thought she heard a growl low in her sister's throat, and began to reconsider whether it was wise to stay where she was.

"Now," Sabafae ordered with an edge most priestesses would kill for.

"Got it. Moving," Pellanistra said, sitting up and scrambling to her feet. The priestess bared her teeth in a grimace as she gripped hold of the iron lance with both hands. Tearing it out would be impossible, Sabafae knew.

She snarled and pulled as hard as she could, driving the spike all the way out of the fleshy part of her shoulder. She let it fall to the ground with a clatter, then tore off the sleeve of her robe and wadded it up to pack in the gaping hole left. The fabric staunched the bleeding quite well, and Sabafae started to pick up the bones with murder in her eyes.

Inshalee whispered in her friend's ear, "Remind me to never piss off your sister more than I did the first day we met."

"I can do that."

Sabafae turned around, studying her sister. Pellanistra knew by that look the priestess was aware of exactly what had happened. "I think this would be best between just us and Lolth," she said after a moment of silence. "The Matrons don't need to know about this."

Pellanistra went over and helped her sister pick up Zilthae's skeleton before reclaiming the sword and baldric from where it had fallen. Inshalee nodded before going towards the exit to listen for any sounds of pursuit.

* * *

The blue-eyed drowess stood silently in the dry air of her family's crypt, listening to Sabafae go through the funeral rites of House Despana. It was the first time she had ever heard them, and she knew it wasn't going to be the last. Where the certainty came from was anyone's guess, but it trailed after her like her shadow.

Spiders moved across the fitted stone walls and ceiling like living ornaments, ebony carapaces shining with a dark vibrancy equal to that of brilliant onyx in the flickering mage-lights Sabafae had summoned. The room wasn't really hot or cold, slightly cooler than the outside cavern of the city but close enough to Yvoth-Lened's usual temperature that she barely noticed.

Her thoughts strayed away from the present happenings and back to her lessons. She had heard in her studies that the surface world was troubled by something referred to as 'weather' in the human tongue. The idea of water droplets falling from the heavens in vast numbers intrigued the girl, and she made a mental note to see if she could find other records to support the phenomenon. It seemed a bit problematic, though—the surface world would fill up, after all. That's what happened to caverns and tunnels where too much water rushed in.

"Pellanistra," her sister said, waving a hand in front of her sister's face to get her attention.

"Sorry, Sabafae," the girl said, having the good grace to look abashed.

"I said I was done and we can go back to the Academy now," the priestess said, amused. On the way to the mausoleum she had taken the time to have her shoulder bandaged and treated—with the pain gone, Sabafae was in a much more pleasant mood.

"Alright," Pellanistra said, letting her sister lead the way back into Yvoth-Lened's streets. After the stony silence of the crypt, the hustle and bustle of the living city was a welcome relief to both of them. She closed her eyes and let the comfortable chaos wash over her. The Street of the Dead, with its relatively large population of ghouls, skeletons, goblin flesh-herders, and necromancers didn't smell the best, but it was alive all the same. She could hear haggling and trade just like in the rest of the city—albeit for different sorts of things, like 'fresh' body parts.

"I hate skeletons," Sabafae grumbled, kicking one of the creatures in question out of her way. "You can't intimidate them or whip them to get them to move faster or go the hell away."

"Does it really matter that much?" Pellanistra said with a smile.

"Not to you, because you don't really have anyplace you have to be on time."

"We're almost to High Street. Then you'll have living creatures to torment to your heart's content."

"And thank the Goddess for that small favor—I can't stand any more heaps of walking bone. I think I prefer goblins, even if they are cowardly little plague rats."

"Nice, Sabafae. You really can't abide undead, can you?"

"No. I had a bad encounter with a priestess of Kiaransalee when I was younger than you. Let's just say they've disturbed me ever since and I don't want to go into any more detail. The Matron hates draegloths, I can't abide undead, Yasmur'ss and Tebatar despise non-drow as a whole, and T'risskacha loathes all oozes with a fiery passion. That's the way the world works."

"I didn't know T'riss hated oozes," Pellanistra said, surprised.

"Hate is not a strong enough word to describe how she feels about them," Sabafae said with a smile. "When we were children, I figured out one tiny green ooze was enough to make T'risskacha leap four feet in the air and hang from the spider statue above the door like a surface opossum. It was funny as hell, other than the fact I had to hide for four days in fear of my life."

"Interesting."

"You have no idea," her sister said as they rounded the corner and stepped onto High Street. The pair stopped at a stall being managed by a scrawny goblin with a brand of some kind on its right cheek and one eye that wandered independently of the other. Pellanistra stared at Sabafae with her mouth slightly open when the priestess slipped into fluent goblin, speaking to the creature in its own language.

It responded in a croaking voice, and after a minute or so her sister had apparently learned everything she wanted to know. Sabafae handed the creature a silver coin, then took a flask and some kind of bread from it in return. "You speak goblin?" Pellanistra asked as they started on their way again.

"Yes, I do," Sabafae said. "And the svirfneblin tongue, Common with an accent, excellent draconic, passable dwarvish, a few smatterings of Abyssal, and elvish."

"Elvish?" Pellanistra asked, stopping in her tracks. "Like faeries?"

"Yes. I am in a profession that deals with history and lore, Pellanistra. Faeries have had a very large influence on arcane magic, and thus knowing their language opens doors that would otherwise be locked to me. It is not, however, something I advertise widely, so I'd prefer if you would keep your voice down a little more."

"Sorry," the girl said, looking suitably chastened.

"There's more to being a priestess than just devotion to Lolth and dealing with other drow—we're the face of the drow when it comes to other races. We also trade in information in our line of work, and a goblin makes a much less obtrusive spy than a drow commoner. What noble is going to look twice at some green-skin slave?"

"I'm going to now," Pellanistra mumbled, falling in step beside her sister as they started walking again.

"Good. And remember, even the races that are ugly and possess both questionable hygiene and ancestry can be extremely lucrative to do business with. You've lived a very sheltered life thus far, Pellanistra, and it will be that way even in the Academy because students there are seen as privileged, exempt somehow from consequences. The world is a bigger place than I'm certain it seems to you, and everything has an effect on something else. For instance, you know that Matron Qildril Tuin'Tarl has taken control of the mithril mines that were run by House Aleval."

"Quite recently, yes. It gained Tuin'Tarl huge amounts of wealth from the city trade—that they can use to advance their own station. They've already bought more power in the city with it."

"Did you know that House Tuin'Tarl has been forced to raid more on the non-drow communities surrounding Yvoth-Lened as a result? House Aleval had more slaves already through commerce and their conquest of House Kilsek. But Tuin'Tarl has been hitting the quaggoth tribes and svirfneblin city of Neptha very hard—our trading partners. So as they replenish the already low ranks further depleted by hard mine labor under truly uncaring drow overseers, we lose valuable allies that enrich our own metal stocks and there's more conflict with our neighbors than usual."

"I didn't know that," Pellanistra admitted.

"T'risskacha, Yasmur'ss and the rest of our siblings are in the same boat. As a priestess and a noble, however, I'm the one who deals with them on the Matron's behalf. Our mother has more important things to do than sit around and try to work it out—and somehow it always works out that there's no rite or anything looming in the near future when she wants me to. But so it goes," Sabafae said with a shrug, taking a sip from the flask. She held it out to Pellanistra with mischief in her eyes. "Want to try some?"

"What is it?" the girl asked with a slight frown, taking it.

"Mralic-uck," Sabafae said, hiding a smile behind one hand. "It's a goblin drink. Very popular with slaves. Cheap stuff, but not half bad."

Pellanistra took a tentative sip, then choked and sputtered. Her sister reached over and pounded on her back a little to help, laughing as she did so. The girl looked over when she could breathe again, eyes streaming. "What in the Nine Hells is in that?" Pellanistra wheezed.

"It's pretty much all alcohol," Sabafae said with her grin showing plainly. "It has some herbs in it that give a euphoric high roughly equivalent to some of the incenses used in the temple and a very, very nasty hangover."

"How can you drink that?!?"

"I don't have much of a gag reflex," the priestess said. "And it's pretty much impossible to poison or catch an illness from it."

"You could dissolve a lock with it," Pellanistra muttered.

"Shh, don't give them ideas," Sabafae said lightly. "They say you know it's done if a dagger will stand straight up in it."

"Ugh, that's terrible. And it feels like my tongue has fur."

"Wait until you get drunk for the first time, little Academy student," the priestess said with a laugh, patting her sister's back. "Just wait."

"That was cruel."

"Don't I know it," Sabafae said, still smiling. "Come on, back to the Academy with you. Before you know it you'll be a priestess and back at the House, and I won't be able to pick on you like I can now."

Pellanistra grinned ruefully at her sister. "I don't believe you. You'll find a way."

"Perhaps," the priestess said, pleased by the odd warm feeling in her chest despite the fact that she didn't know what it was.


	19. Punishment and Graduation

Leshrae licked his dry lips and stepped into the Chapel of Reverence. He was a young soldier, not quite yet filled out all the way, and as the youngest it had fallen to him to get House Despana's second daughter. Ever since the day she had returned with a wounded shoulder, her temper had calmed substantially—all the soldiers remarked the change seemed unnaturally sudden and dramatic—but he was aware no priestess enjoyed having their meditations disturbed.

"Reverend Daughter?" he said, voice tight with apprehension. It came out more like a hoarse whisper than anything else in the cool, shadowy place. The male padded forward through the aisle between narrow vaulting pillars of marble. He had never been here before.

The young soldier had followed the pitying advice of his peers to the letter, entering through the side door so that he could see the face of the priestess at the altar and thus gauge her mood with some accuracy, though there was little enough he could do if things went sour.

He could see the smoke shrouded figure of the priestess kneeling before the altar, head bowed and hands raised with her palms turned to the stony sky of Yvoth-Lened in supplication, murmured prayers turned to the statue of the Flesh-Carver that sneered down at the black stone table before the priestess. He shuddered at that terrible visage of the Spider Queen and the way it mocked the suffering of the countless screaming victims who had died before it—the carvings of the ancients who had constructed the Temple in the days of Yvoth-Lened's youth were altogether too lifelike for his tastes.

"Revered Sabafae," he said with a bit more certainty in his tone. The muted sound of the rite halted abruptly, and he heard her rise with an apology whispered to the Goddess.

"What is it?" she snapped icily, waving away the incense and turning to face him. He dropped his eyes to the stone, hearing the dreaded hiss of a snake whip that readily announced its mistress's displeasure. Leshrae couldn't be certain if the rumors were true—soldiers and mages alike had been whispering that the noble before him now had been punished by Lolth for a great failure by losing much of her power—and thus dared not risk earning her ire. Besides, out of the Goddess's favor or not, a female was a female all the same.

"Reverend Mother Sinaste Alet'tar ordered that I find you and escort you to Arach-Tinilith to assist in the graduation ceremony," he said, voice wavering slightly with fear.

Sabafae sighed, already regretting that she had spoken so harshly to the male. She took a deep breath, restoring her calm. "Very well," she said, stroking one of the heads of her snake whip to calm the sentient weapon. "I suggest we leave now—Sinaste is not a woman to be kept waiting." _Oh, Goddess, I almost forgot about Pellanistra's graduation._

The priestess felt the serenity that had lingered near her since the day she had died return, flowing over her inflamed temper like a balm. In a few short hours there would be no more lying to the Matron and her siblings, clandestine meetings with her youngest sister, and long nights in the Fane attempting to appease the Spider Queen—Pellanistra's return to the House would placate the Goddess in a way that no amount of sacrifices could, and Sabafae would have her full powers again. She was close already, but she could still feel the maddening gap between what she had been reduced to and what she was once capable of.

Death was, for the drow, the ultimate defeat that earned them the worst of Lolth's wrath—there was no gateway into some idyllic paradise as a reward for past triumphs in the Goddess's name. Even though she had only been in the twilight realm beyond the shadowy veil for a few moments at the most, it had been enough to rouse the Flesh-Carver's ire. Sabafae had lost most of her power and it had taken her the better part of four years to painstakingly build it up again, a secret she kept well hidden from her siblings.

The priestess was undeniably grateful for the second chance her sister had given her, though she had not breathed a word about it to anyone. She just wished that Lolth had been a little more understanding about the whole fiasco.

Sabafae stopped at the front steps of the Academy, turning her eyes up to the vast ceiling above and brushing the strands of hair that tunnel zephyrs had pushed into her face back behind her ears. "Why?" she murmured, honest confusion on her face for the briefest of moments. Leshrae frowned and glanced over at her as unobtrusively as possible. She didn't notice, thoughts on more pressing matters—like the presence of the Eater that seemed to grow stronger with every passing cycle.

* * *

"I don't see why you're so nervous," Inshalee said with a sidelong grin at her friend, stretching slightly as they made their way through Arach-Tinilith's halls.

"I just am," Pellanistra said with a hint of irritation, tense and unhappy that the Hun'ett noble was making light of her apprehension. Something felt wrong in the air. "You would be too—I haven't seen Sabafae for months."

The blue-eyed drowess was the same height as her friend now, and they had both finished growing. Inshalee was broader and more powerfully built than Mayna's daughter, who looked downright frail next to the Hun'ett girl. Pellanistra was like the rest of her family, slender almost to the point of gauntness with a catlike grace in her step.

"Ah, you rely on your sister too much, I think," Inshalee said sagely. "Relax, enjoy yourself. We've survived the Academy despite everything our teachers threw at us—as soon as the ceremony is over, we're priestesses and can go back to our houses."

"And try and kill each other as per tradition," Pellanistra added, trying to clear her thoughts. "Have you seen Drisxena or any of the others?"

"They're behind us a ways. Did I stammer when I said relax?"

"For all I know, you did. Sorry, I wasn't really listening."

The Hun'ett noble scowled and prodded her friend in the shoulder. Underneath the irritation, she was a little worried about Pellanistra—her friend seemed so much more wary about venturing into the unknown after their escapade into Zilthae's resting place. "Don't be a smart ass," Inshalee said as they reached the end of the corridor. She pulled open one of the double doors, holding it politely for Pellanistra before walking in.

The darkness of the room was surprising for both of them—most of Arach-Tinilith was at least dimly lit with mage-lights, but here only the faint glow of hot coals in smoking braziers offered any illumination, reflecting a fanatical glow in the eyes of the priestesses standing near them. Pellanistra couldn't make out any familiar faces as they stepped into the uncomfortably warm room—or at least so it felt to the blue-eyed drowess. Her friend was perfectly at ease, while the incense-laden smoke seemed to hang in a stifling cloud about Pellanistra.

Pellanistra tried to take deep breaths to calm herself, but her head grew lighter and lighter, the smoldering embers of the braziers swimming together as the voice of one priestess blurred into another. The walls pressed closer and closer on all sides, until the girl couldn't hear or understand what was being said. Her pulse started to throb in her temples, and the roaring in her ear obscured all other sound. _I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to feel sick right now. _Something changed as she took another deep breath, stranger sensations starting to run through her body.

All her life, the budding priestess had been taught to be in control of her senses. Now they were spiraling off doing whatever they pleased, and it frightened her. She didn't react very well when she felt someone reach out to her, recoiling back violently and lashing out. There was a muffled curse from some male, and Pellanistra stumbled for the only lights in the room—she still couldn't hear or see right, and she was becoming more and more aware of a new feeling that she could vaguely recall was lust.

Someone seized hold of her arm with more firmness, and Pellanistra flailed, hitting the offending person with her nails. This time, the curse was a familiar voice. "Be still," Sabafae hissed, obviously less than thrilled with her sister's reaction.

Pellanistra let the priestess lead her away from the dense smoke, into what she assumed was a different room, a bit cooler and without the incense. "Where...what..." the girl started to say, words coming out muddled and mixed.

"You'll thank me for this some day," Sabafae said, giving her sister a solid push. The girl toppled into a pool of frigid water with a startled cry of dismay.

The sudden shock of cold and submersion snapped Pellanistra out of her confused and panicked state. The girl swam for the surface out of reflex, coming up sputtering. "Sabafae!" she protested, pushing sopping hair back from her face.

Her sister was standing on the edge of the pool, arms crossed with only the faintest trace of amusement curving the corners of her mouth up into a wry smile. The pleasantly mellow lights that glowed softly in the corners of the room seemed to surround Sabafae with a radiant halo of luminescence."Feeling a little better, are we?"

"I'm wet!"

"Yes, you fell in a pool. That's generally how you end up after being immersed in water," Sabafae said. She reached in and fished out her dripping sister. Pellanistra scowled as best she could with her teeth chattering, hunching her shoulders and crossing her arms in an effort to stay warm. "I have dry clothes for you here. Towel off and change, or else you'll freeze."

"Someone's going to notice that we're missing," Pellanistra said a bit sullenly, stripping off her wet robe before wiping the moisture away.

"I assure you, my dear little sister, no one in there is going to be noticing anything for some time," Sabafae said, holding fresh clothes out to the blue-eyed drowess without a trace of humor in her tone or expression. A faint scream echoed in the small stone room, obviously originating from the room they had left. Pellanistra looked to her sister in confusion and learned only one certain thing from the priestess's expression—whatever caused it and whoever screamed, there would be no going back to investigate.

"Where are we?" Pellanistra murmured, wisely dropping any thoughts of further inquiry as she dressed.

"An antechamber of sorts. The room adjoining that we were just in is the main chapel-area of Arach-Tinilith. Priestesses come here after rites to get cleaned up and sometimes changed before returning to normal life. Blood all over one's hands and clothing is fine during a sacrificial rite, but not exactly polite at some political function. The Fane has rooms like this—they're the only real sanctuary we get. Female drow don't bother each other or kill each other in them, and males and slaves don't enter. Academy students and minor priestesses are the ones who clean them up."

Pellanistra nodded, looking around. There was a deep pool set in the center of the room filled with cold water, while another closer to the west wall steamed. Stone shelves jutted out from the back wall, supporting various arrays of towels, herbs of some kind, soaps, clothes, personal affects, combs and brushes, and jars she knew contained either bath salts or perfumes. The young priestess knew her kin were fastidious to their core, and the Church was filled with influential and wealthy females—who were willing to go to almost any expense for luxuries that even some nobles could only dream of.

She went back to her study of the room, taking in the stone benches and low tables that stood around the edges of the room, plenty of which bore bowls of water with smaller towels and dark seedpods beside them. There were some bottles standing on or beside them as well, filled with the scented oils priestesses prized so highly.

"So do people bring their own things?" Pellanistra asked finally, when she was satisfied she had examined everything thoroughly enough.

"Sometimes. If priestesses are allies or on relatively good terms, they'll share or trade. A lot of these things are payments for commissions instead of coinage or gems—some of those oils are worth more than their weight in gold. A tribute to our vanity, I suppose. At least we have good taste," Sabafae said with a bit of wryness, laying her sister's wet robe across one of the deserted benches to dry.

"I like it in here a lot more than out there," Pellanistra said, inhaling the clean air of the antechamber—the lighter fragrances of soaps and oils were a marvelous break from the oppressive incense.

"Well, yes, this is a good deal more pleasant. Eventually you'll build up a tolerance to the other stuff," her older sister said. She held out a glimmering medallion to her sister, smiling faintly. "Ceremony or no, you've graduated."

Pellanistra took it with mixed feelings, slipping it around her neck and fingering the disk of gold pensively. She knew, as she closed her eyes and pondered, that this meant she could finally go home, but the young priestess was just as certain she would miss the protection of Arach-Tinilith's walls and the friends she had made during her days at the Academy. A deep breath restored her wavering resolve. Pellanistra opened her eyes again, returning Sabafae's smile. "Let's go home."


	20. At the Crossroads

"A war?" Inshalee echoed in dismay, standing in the dark audience hall. Even Arach-Tinilith seemed bare compared to the obvious trappings of luxury and expensive hangings found here. House Hun'ett was powerful and influential, and not so tasteful that they were above making certain everyone else knew it. "But Matron, they have proper soldiers and—"

"If the words Lolth's favor come out of your mouth, I am cutting out your tongue and feeding it to the chwidencha in the Pit," Nedxae said sharply. There was an audible click when the girl's mouth shut so fast her teeth struck each other painfully. "Despana is lower in stature than us with no obvious favoritism from the Goddess. Unless you would like to lose your nobility to an upstart house that we once drove to the brink of extinction, I suggest you rethink your position."

_Does Lolth ever display favoritism to any House, even us?_ Inshalee thought with a trace of bitterness. The young priestess's mood was not conducive to positive thinking—her head ached as an after-effect of the incense, she was tired and had been roused early, her mother was the first person she had spoken to all day, and deep in her heart Inshalee knew that the Matron was going to start asking questions she would prefer to leave unanswered. "Yes, Matron."

"Tell me what you know of Despana—I know you had classes with Mayna's youngest and encountered her second daughter as well."

"The house is militaristic, progressive, and very interested in cooperation with other races. They regularly deal with inferior creatures, and allow them to have relatively loose rein. Their military consists of large numbers of free non-drow such as quaggoths and goblinoid creatures, with drow officers and elite squadrons. They deal with the svirfneblin of Neptha on a regular basis," Inshalee said woodenly, seeming to recite this by rote.

Nedxae sneered, lip curling with distaste. "How revolting. A blessing we have higher standards. I'm surprised there isn't goblin blood or some such thing in their line somewhere," the Matron said. Inshalee bit her tongue forcefully to stop herself from speaking out in defense of the other House. She had grown to admire her friend's sister greatly in her time at Arach-Tinilith, and had learned from Sabafae that consorting with the other races could be an advantage rather than a fault. "What of the noble family?"

"They're very proud—they place great stock in their heritage and ancestry," Inshalee said. "They're also very close-knit on the grand scheme of things. They may not like each other, but without fail they'll come together in the face of a common threat."

"You seem impressed by that, Inshalee," Nedxae said, scrutinizing her daughter.

"Unification in face of a greater problem makes them formidable, Matron," the young cleric said, sensing that she would have to cover her tracks quickly.

"Tell me of them, then. You must have made a study if they seemed so strong to you."

"I know very little about the Matron and nothing about the Patron," Inshalee said, a wave of nausea seeming to sweep up from her stomach—she realized her mother wanted her to betray the fragile friendship she had managed with Pellanistra. How the elder drowess knew about it was anyone's guess, but she did. "Yasmur'ss is a schemer disliked by her sisters, Tebatar not highly thought of but his sisters will occasionally defer to him in matters of House military. T'risskacha is calculating under her pleasant demeanor and positively savage in defense of her twin, Zezdrin the House Weapons Master. He's a very talented swordsman and instructs as many of the House's recruits as possible. Vornas is a wizard with the potential to become an arch mage in due time, just as cunning as his father the Patron and ruthless in pursuit of knowledge. Talra is a wild card—she doesn't appear to be the Matron's daughter, yet she's a noble. She finished Sorcere first in her class above both Dhauneth and Soldax, and is a frighteningly potent mage for being so young."

"Don't remind me about your brothers," Nedxae said with a scowl. It quickly turned into a smile, and the Matron held up a finger, leaning back in her stone seat. "Dear Inshalee, there are two enigmas you have yet to tell me about—Pellanistra and Sabafae, Mayna's youngest and second daughters."

"Revered Sabafae is a very strange woman. She treats openly with the lesser races and knows their customs and language with surprising depth. She has to the best of everyone's knowledge one and only one lover—her consort, a psion named Divaufein, and it would seem that she's quite attached to him. She's also extremely protective of her family, namely Pellanistra. And she's as devoted to Lolth as they come, but without the fanaticism."

"She's the one who struck you that first day at the Academy, isn't she?" Nedxae said, amused. She could see how even the reminder stung Inshalee.

"Yes," the girl admitted through gritted teeth.

"It would appear the lesson in manners she gave you is satisfactory—of all her siblings, she is the only one you have referred to by title. I remain intrigued by this difference. But please, tell me about Mayna's youngest daughter."

"Pellanistra is...different," Inshalee said honestly. "She's intelligent, she learns quickly and adapts faster than most humans, even. She can be the endless font of questions when she sees fit, and frequently the person she's asking learns as much or more from the encounter. Her spell casting abilities are to be feared—I've seen her wreak havoc with spells in practice-combat and I wouldn't like to see the real thing. Lolth seems to bestow favor on her left and right as though she's some golden child that can do no wrong, and she's utterly devoted to her family and House. And she has powers that not even our instructors seemed to understand."

"Really?" Nedxae seemed very interested now. "Explain."

"I only witnessed it once, but she can alter the course of events," Inshalee said with a difficult swallow. She knew that predatory expression—suddenly, telling her mother seemed like a terrible idea. But it was too late now, and all she could do was forge on. "I don't understand how, and I doubt she does, but she can go back and alter the outcome of the past."

There was a hiss of indrawn breath from Nedxae Hun'ett, and then the Matron laughed. It was a harsh, cruel sound, far cry from what her daughter had become accustomed to. "You have done well, Inshalee. But mark me—from this point on, no more clandestine meetings with any Despana noble. This isn't Arach-Tinilith, child, I will find out. You are dismissed."

"Yes, Matron," Inshalee said thickly, her mouth so dry that her tongue was trying to fuse to the roof of her mouth. She knew what would happen when she defied her mother's command, but she couldn't think of any other alternative.

Above everything else, the drowess was loyal to House Hun'ett, and to attack Despana would bring catastrophe crashing down on it. This was madness, and the only people she knew to turn to for help, galling as it was, were Pellanistra and her family._ But I won't be free for weeks,_ Inshalee realized despairingly. _The Matron will make sure of that._ It would have to wait—giving her house ample time to make the first move.

* * *

"...and that's why they call it Rilithra's Revenge," the priestess finished explaining as she washed blood off her arms in the basin of hot water. She took one of the seedpods and rubbed it between her palms until it started to give off suds, needing something to get the more determined stuff off.

"Qualne, that's horrible!" Pellanistra said through her laughter. Sabafae was nearby, half dressed as she tried to listen and track down her pendant at the same time.

"It's true, though," Qualne said with a grin. "Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

"I have never heard such goblin shit in all my years as priestess," Sabafae said, frowning at both of them to hide the way the corners of her mouth were trying to curve up into a smile. "And you'd best hope Reverend Mother Rilithra never hears it from you either."

"Oh, don't be so damn proper, Sabafae," Qualne said, waving a hand. The slim priestess was a Noquar noble, and thus spoke to Despana's second daughter as she pleased—the two houses had been allied so long it seemed they had always been so joined, simply because it was more profitable for both Houses. "Anyway, your sister can tell I'm full of hot air."

"Remember that you said that, and not me," Sabafae said, surrendering to her grin and putting on her spider pendant. The three were the only ones in the antechamber off the Fane of Lolth, their shift in the endless cycle of sacrifices finished—there had been no major rites to disturb their usual duties, no occasions to celebrate or honor the Goddess above the norm.

Pellanistra had grown very fond of this room in the weeks since Arach-Tinilith—it was the only place she really had friendly company. At home, her siblings were busy or absent and her mother had been swamped with conflict on all sides. She hadn't seen or spoken to the Matron since the brief congratulation on her graduation. The young priestess had no complaints about that, however, knowing with absolute certainty that her mother and Sabafae were immensely proud of her achievements and place at the top of her class—it had been quite obvious in both of their voices when they talked about her.

Here, however, she could talk freely with Sabafae and Qualne, the two priestesses she was sharing her shift with. She had grown to like the Noquar noble with her outlandishly exaggerated stories and her ready humor. Though older, Qualne was still very much Sabafae's junior and even more childish in her behavior than Pellanistra could be.

She blinked, realizing she was missing Qualne teasing her older sister. "Sabafae, you can't go and become a Reverend Mother on us—you're far too young and pretty for a dread case of wrinkles. Just look at what it did to Rilithra...on second thought, don't. Eww, reptilian."

"Right, into the pool with you," Sabafae said, seizing the Noquar noble by the ear. Qualne was a good bit taller than her, but that didn't really prove much of a hindrance for the older priestess. There was a shriek of protest as Sabafae gave her a solid push, sending her into the pool. "Will you please start speaking of the Reverend Mother with the respect she's due, before she whips you or has you murdered?"

"Sabafae, you're really fond of pushing people into those pools, aren't you?" Pellanistra ventured, sitting on the edge of the pool with her bare feet and lower legs dangling in the water. The room here was almost identical to the one at Arach-Tinilith, only with more signs of frequent use in it and some cushioned furniture for the priestesses when they sat down to talk before going out someplace where they would have to worry about spies and appearances.

"She hadn't taken a bath yet—neither of you have. You're both too busy dawdling," Sabafae said, taking a seat on a silk-covered divan.

"Okay, okay," Qualne said, holding up both hands. "I surrender. Pella, pull me out. I want to change out of the wet clothes."

Pellanistra obediently held out her hand for Qualne to grab. The older priestess gave an impish grin and took it, tugging hard enough to pull her into the water as well. She came up sputtering, glaring at Qualne, though the effect was lost with her sopping hair in her face. "Qualne!" she finally managed

"Hmm, drowned sewer rat really isn't a good look for you." The blue-eyed drowess gave a shriek of rage, thumping on the grinning noble of House Noquar.

"Pellanistra, get out and dried off," Sabafae said, looking up from a message with a seriousness that interrupted their mock-fight. Her younger sister assumed that a web golem had brought it in, or a student who believed in the 'seen not heard' rule. "Inshalee Hun'ett is outside waiting for you."

"Does it say what she wants?" Pellanistra asked, getting out and pulling off her wet clothes in favor of dry robes. "Because she hasn't said two words to me since graduation."

"No. There's also a message from Zezdrin," the priestess said, a bit puzzled as she unfolded the second piece of paper. "I'll come get you if it's important."

Pellanistra nodded, taking off into the halls until she ran across Inshalee in a shadowy, sheltered arch in a side hall. "You aren't making yourself easy to find," the young priestess said, keeping her voice light and pleasant.

Inshalee stepped out into the main surface of the hall, exposing her haggard face to the relative brightness everywhere outside the shadowy place she had been hiding in. "I can't stay for very long," her friend said. The Hun'ett noble looked terrible, as though she had spent more than a few nights of late tossing and turning too badly for even reverie.

_An unquiet mind_, Pellanistra decided, gazing into her friend's tired eyes. "I'm just glad to see you," the young priestess said, concern touching her tone. "Is there something the matter?"

"The House," Inshalee said, voice slightly hoarse with urgency. "Matron Nedxae means to destroy Despana. You have to turn her aside somehow or tell me how to—it will destroy us!"

"We're ninth House, you're sixth on the ruling council. Why would you even bother?" Pellanistra asked. Almost guiltily, she remembered the fact that their houses were blood enemies.

"She didn't exactly give me an explanation other than 'we hate Despana'," the other priestess said with a sigh and a shrug that expressed all of her resignation and unhappiness. "I just...I'm loyal to Hun'ett, Pellanistra. My House is the only thing I have, and I can't bear to think of it being consigned to oblivion for my mother's sins."

"Perhaps you should have considered that before this," Sabafae said sharply. The older priestess was suddenly tall and imposing at Pellanistra's shoulder, a message clenched in one closed fist.

Her younger sister glanced from Inshalee's wide gray eyes to Sabafae's narrowed crimson ones. "What's going on?" she asked, confusion filling her face.

"This is Zezdrin's message. T'risskacha and her patrol have vanished, courtesy of House Hun'ett," Despana's second daughter snapped, almost brandishing the paper. "Do you know what this will do to the Matron when she hears?"

"Sabafae, you can't blame Inshalee—" Pellanistra started to say, trying to defend her friend. The other young priestess had taken a step back, terrified of the murderous rage in Sabafae's eyes.

"Can't I?" the other priestess said hotly, incensed when her sister stepped between them. "You're willing to side with a Hun'ett?"

"You're acting irrationally. And she's not our enemy!" Pellanistra said, just as vehement as her sister. Sabafae took a step back, a sign that her temper was cooling.

"I misspoke," Sabafae said more coolly. "She is not responsible. But she has given us no cause to trust her either—a woman who would turn so swiftly against her family might well do the same to us."

"Wouldn't you if you feared for your House?" Pellanistra shot back a bit crossly, folding her arms in front of her chest.

"I would follow my Matron and the dictates of Lolth," the Reverend Daughter said bluntly.

"Perhaps I've made a mistake," Inshalee said, her vision blurring slightly as she stumbled back away from them. She felt sick, but she knew it was true—she had betrayed her house just by coming here, and this was the reception she had expected in her heart, if not the one she had hoped for. "Forgive me."

Pellanistra turned and lunged, grabbing her friend's wrist. "If you go back to your house, they'll kill you," she said urgently, trying to force Inshalee to stay. "Your Matron will already know of your absence, and she can scry here to find you."

"What else can I do?" the Hun'ett noble said in dismay, looking from Pellanistra's sympathetic features to the impassive visage of Sabafae. She searched the Reverend Daughter's face for some sign of mercy.

A hand was suddenly on Pellanistra's arm, gently restraining her. "Stay," Sabafae said coolly, expression still unreadable as she gazed at Inshalee. "If the Matron can be swayed, there's hope. I suggest you accompany us back to the villa and take the time until Mayna makes her decision to reflect on where your loyalties lie."

"Thank you, Reverend Daughter," Inshalee said, some loose strands of otherwise tied-back hair falling into her face when she bowed. The fear and nausea she had felt were merely apprehension now, coupled with a conflict of heart at the decision facing her—to whom would she give her allegiance, Despana or Hun'ett?


	21. The Enemy of My Enemy

"Despana has been authorized to move without the direct intervention of the council. Why should this change?" Matron Shyntana Vae asked, lounging in her seat and studying her fingernails as though she hadn't a care in the world.

"What evidence do we have that there's actually a need for war?" Nedxae asked. "All Despana and Noquar have supplied us with is vanished troops and accounts from gibbering, half-crazed goblinoids. This seems more like a bid for them to amass soldiers without suspicion."

"Well, only one of us would need to fear if that were true—Hun'ett," Laelithra Kilsek said with a slight smile, earning a scowl from the older matron. Most of the other matrons smiled and nodded appreciatively. "Is it true that you see little Despana as a threat, Nedxae?"

"Watch your tongue," Nedxae snapped. Kilsek was only a step below her, so she knew she was playing a dangerous game—her pride, however, would allow her to do nothing else.

"Why don't you make me, Hun'ett?" Laelithra challenged. A hush had fallen over the room as things took a turn for the more serious. "Perhaps you should speak to Despana first, though—Mayna has enough backbone that I'm sure she can spare some for you."

The Matron of House Hun'ett snarled and was up on her feet in an instant, dagger drawn. Laelithra sprang forward to meet her, but they were both interrupted by agony beyond anything they had ever experienced tearing through their minds with the fury of a cyclone. Nedxae and Laelithra both hit the ground with screams, hands to their temples with their blades clattering to the ground forgotten. The pain faded after a few moments, and Kilsek's matron dabbed at the trickle of blood from her nose before looking to Shyntana, who sat like a statue with one hand resting on the wicked looking mace that seemed always at her side.

"If you wish to squabble like children, you may do so in a different place at a different time," the Matron of House Vae said coldly, her gray-green eyes daring them to argue. "When you are at this council, I expect you to act as befits one of the eight great matrons of Yvoth-Lened. Have I made myself clear?"

"Abundantly so, Matron," Nedxae said, too afraid even to seethe. Laelithra nodded her agreement, wincing when the movement made her head throb. Neither was sure what Shyntana had just done to them, but they knew they did not want it repeated. They picked themselves up and returned to their seats obediently, wary of earning Shyntana's ire.

"To answer your question before this folly interrupted the Council, Nedxae, House Despana has been recovering the bodies of those who disappeared. Interestingly enough, Mayna's report to me indicates that those who had not killed themselves were found with their skulls opened up and empty," Shyntana said, voice back to its usual level tone. "She has even offered to send them and some dead mind flayers back for us. I thought it best to decline."

"That sounds like Mayna," Micarlay Rilynt'tar said with an amused expression. "Despana blood just can't resist bringing home tokens to flaunt their triumphs. No, why should we revoke her powers to move independently? Mayna has only ever kept Yvoth-Lened safe. She has proven herself capable in war before, and through ruling an eighth of the city, the Ghetto of Savages—a place we all must admit we prefer not to even set foot in. Besides, she's popular with the commoners and slaves. If we are fools enough to try and strip her of her authority, we'll have full scale rioting in the streets. I think we can all agree the last thing we want is a slave rebellion."

There was a murmur of agreement throughout the room, and Nedxae wanted to scream with anger. It was true, however—the Matrons of the Council could claim control over vast stretches of territory and the city, but to rouse Mayna's full wrath would guarantee obliteration. She had a military force easily equal to House Vae's at her beck and call, and the popular support of the city's unaffiliated. Long ago, Mayna had learned that the disenfranchised cared nothing for politics or power, but they did remember who financed the games and offered them something better.

"Let us hope Despana's great matron does not fall," Ilivanna Xorlarrin said quietly. Nedxae looked up, startled. She had been counting on Despana's other enemy to lend her support, but now even they were standing behind Mayna. "The uproar it would cause in the city could destroy everything we have worked to create."

Laelithra shuddered at the thought of that chaos. "Especially if the Honored Yasmur'ss is the one to succeed her," she added. All of the Matrons exchanged looks—a Matron of Despana with that level of ambition doomed them all.

Shyntana prayed inwardly to Lolth that it would not be Yasmur'ss who next wore the circlet of Despana's matron. She felt a strange sensation, as though her silent plea had been heard.

* * *

"It's broken," the male drow said irritably, pulling up the cloth mask that hid the lower half of his face and his nose as he watched T'risskacha mess with the inner workings of the siege engine. The only sign of the other Despana warrior working on it was boots sticking out from under it.

The female noble was granting the Vhaeraunite non-existence, and it irked him. "Is this supposed to click?" T'riss asked her engineer. Some choice words in goblin followed, and the bugbear poked his head out.

"What are you pushing?" he growled with the accent of a stonejack.

"I'm turning the brass knob," she said as helpfully as she could, leaning over the bowels of the engine.

"It should click a little."

The female warrior turned it again. "What about a harsh click and a grinding sound?" T'risskacha asked, frowning.

"That's not normal," the bugbear said, scowling thoughtfully and sliding underneath. "Try it now."

T'risskacha carefully twisted it. "Is it doing anything?" she asked. There was a metallic groan of protest and then a twanging sound. A large spring shot straight up into the air before plummeting back towards the ground. "Huh."

A string of colorful invectives powerful enough to make a sailor run for cover came streaking out from beneath the siege engine with the words "spring" and "knob" tastefully scattered throughout. Banging sounds started to issue out as the bugbear thumped on it while calling into question the thing's ancestry and personal habits—amongst other things.

"I feel like I should be covering your ears," the Vhaeraunite said wryly.

"I don't know goblin well enough to know what he's saying," the female drow said, bemused. "I can venture a guess, though."

There was a cracking sound, followed by a clatter and some clunks. Big gears fell out of the thing and rolled out across the ground, eventually falling over and stopping. After a slight hush, there was a quiet, drawn out wheezing sound that resembled some kind of dying animal. "Broken," the bugbear announced, slipping out from under it and giving it a solid kick. The big throwing arm fell off with a dull thump.

"We see that," G'eldzar observed. "I suppose it's alright to leave it. Why don't you get a drink?"

The bugbear nodded, picking himself up and trying to wipe off most of the drink. He saluted the pair, then headed off. T'risskacha felt faintly irritated—she and G'eldzar were jointly commanding the defense here, but it always irked her when someone else ordered her soldiers around. She was pulled out of that train of thought quite quickly by being pinned against the armored shield that protected the front of the big ballista-like thing.

"You know, I've been trying to talk to you," the male said, keeping her wrists trapped above her head so she couldn't injure him there. He was inside her space enough to render most of her attacks ineffective. "I don't like being ignored."

"You have my attention," T'riss said with a frown. "I don't suppose you'd care to let me go?"

"No. As soon as I let go of you, I'll probably be hit. Besides, I'm comfortable," he said with a grin that was mostly hidden by his mask—she could still see it in his eyes. He moved his mouth so it was by her ear, confusing T'risskacha. She was fairly sure that from a distance away, it looked like something entirely different was going on than talking. "Play along. I think someone's spying on us—troop movements as well as both of us individually. I'm also thinking we have an assassin nearby."

He had to give T'risskacha credit: she caught on fast. The drowess hooked a leg behind his, smiling slightly at him as she murmured. "I hope to the gods you're right, because I don't want to be doing this for any other reason."

"Oh, now I'm hurt," G'eldzar murmured.

"You're going to be really hurt in about ten seconds if this is screwed up. Five of them, and they look like they mean business," T'risskacha said, her voice sultry. The Vhaeraunite had a little bit of trouble focusing on the matter at hand, releasing her wrists and running his hands down her sides until he found two of her knives. He could feel one of her hands on his shoulder, the other straying down his chest to the rapier on his belt.

"Only five?" he said with a chuckle, hooking an arm around her waist. He caught her in a kiss through the mask for a fraction of a second as their assailants made their move, and then the tone of the entire thing changed.

G'eldzar whirled around, hurling one of the knives with his free hand and leaving it buried in a male drow's throat. His momentum brought T'risskacha with him and propelled her forward, allowing the drowess to draw his weapon easily and wreak absolute havoc on them with it. "Can we not do this again?" T'riss called over the din, slamming her foot into the solar plexus of an assassin.

"I thought you'd prefer it to a quiet evening alone and a bottle of wine," the Vhaeraunite shouted back, thoroughly enjoying himself as he sliced with the precision of a surgeon, earning screams and cries as tendons and muscle gave way to the gleaming edge of the blade. "Gods, T'riss, you sharpen this knife enough?"

"I'm beginning to think you might have planned this," the noble growled, running one of the men cleanly through with a lunge and pulling the blade out. The straight blade felt strange, but she did her best to adapt.

"Yes, I'm secretly tentacled and mauve," G'eldzar said with a grin, seeming to materialize at her side. "Where's your saber, anyway?"

"Being repaired," she said,driving the rapier into the last man's back. She had to brace her foot on her back to work the blade out with difficulty—it had lodged in his sternum.

"That was over quick," he said, surveying the mess. The pair of them had definitely put down any trouble.

"You know you're a bastard, right?" T'risskacha said, handing him his rapier back.

"Most handsome one around, though," he said, wiping off her knives before passing them back. T'risskacha made a noise of displeasure, but he hooked his fingers through the back of her sword belt before she could stalk off. "You know, I think you owe me something for all of this."

"Oh you do, do you?" she said, turning and crossing her arms before leveling a glare at him. "I don't have to help you."

"Nor did I have to offer you shelter. Besides, we're working together," he pointed out before launching into his plan. "Let's call it an even slate without any of the old prejudices clouding the air. So how does that dinner sound?"

T'risskacha looked at him incredulously, then up at the cavern ceiling. "At this point, what do I have to lose?" she muttered. "Fine, G'eldzar. But don't think I'll hesitate if pinning your hand to the table becomes necessary."

"Of course not," he said, starting to saunter off. A thought seemed to occur to him, and he stopped and turned for a moment. "You know, I'm almost positive that wasn't your best kiss. Maybe I can find out some other time—see you tonight."

The drowess stared after him, then turned and kicked the siege engine. "Light take all males!" she cursed, fuming as she stalked back to her room. T'riss couldn't escape the feeling that somehow he had caught her in a trap she didn't quite recognize.


	22. The Beginning of the End

"Inshalee!" a voice called. The young priestess half turned to see that it was Talra flagging her down and she paused to wait for the female mage to catch up to her.

The Hun'ett noble did not understand what the story was behind Despana's fourth daughter. She couldn't believe that Talra's mother was Mayna—the lines of her face were too sharp, too aquiline. There was certainly something of the Patron in her, but not the Matron. At least, not this Matron. Inshalee found the angles of the mage's jaw and the bump on the bridge of her nose eerily reminiscent of her own. But of course, hers wasn't the only family with those traits, and it simply wasn't possible for such a thing to happen. Blood enemies, after all.

"Yes?" the young priestess asked, puzzled.

"Yasmur'ss and I wanted a word with you," Talra said once she had drawn even with Inshalee. "It isn't a matter I'd care to speak of here—we need your help."

Inshalee almost shuddered at the mention of Yasmur'ss. She had been a 'guest' of House Despana for weeks now, and her opinions of the house nobles had changed somewhat at a close view. She had a great amount of difficulty believing that Yasmur'ss and Pellanistra were sisters, but of course she was also having trouble imagining Yasmur'ss being involved in anything so natural as being born. It seemed more likely that she had been spawned in some dark recess of the Demonweb.

Someone seemed to materialize behind the Hun'ett noble. "Talra, don't you have somewhere else to be?" Zezdrin said coolly, arms crossed as he stood slightly to the priestess's left and back a short distance.

Talra scowled and bristled at the House Weapons Master, obviously less than thrilled at receiving an order from a male, even if it was worded as a suggestion. "What business of it is yours?" she snapped.

"The Matron just gave me specific orders to keep Revered Inshalee away from you and our dear oldest sister," he said. Almost conversationally, he continued, "You know, I don't think Mother trusts either of you in the slightest."

"Well, I suppose I must bow to the Matron's whims, even coming from the mouth of a male," Talra said with a sneer, turning on her heel and striding off.

Zezdrin didn't seemed bothered at all. "My apologies, Priestess Inshalee," he said smoothly.

"Thank you so much," the Hun'ett noble said with a smile, looking genuinely relieved.

"No trouble," he said, not returning the smile. She was fairly sure she hadn't seen him smile the entire time she had been here—Pellanistra's theory was that he was missing his twin. "Divaufein and I were going to the Lower Web, if you wish to join us. Matron Mayna says you have been trapped here long enough, and that it should be safe for you to leave with us."

Inshalee nodded, ecstatic about a chance to get out again. She had become acquainted with the majority of House Despana's villa and was ready for some fresh air. She had definitely noticed a shift in attitudes of late—it seemed less like she was in the House's custody and more like she was under their protection. "Yes, that'd be marvelous. Are we leaving now?" she said eagerly.

Zezdrin chuckled. "Excited, Priestess? Yes, we are," he said with a bit more pleasantness in his tone.

Only a short while later, Inshalee was out in the Lower Web with the two males, reveling in the noise and air of the officially unaffiliated portion of the city. In truth, House Despana really ruled this place, though no other houses could bring themselves to admit it. Mayna's popularity granted her astonishing amounts of power over the city's poor. She listened to them and dealt with the problems that arose periodically, even if it meant upsetting other Matrons, and in return they had given her everything. Inshalee wondered if Mayna actually knew how much she could ask of these people.

Yvoth-Lened proper, or the Upper Web, was a neatly laid out, beautiful, and immaculate city. The Lower Web, however, was a different story—the crooked, narrow streets curved and twisted in labyrinthine patterns as though marked out by some demented architect with broken spectacles. Buildings didn't seem to fit together right, leaning over the streets precariously and casting their surreal shadows on the masses of creatures that moved about below. Spiders and drow mingled with hulking draegloths, shifty-eyed kobolds, squabbling goblins, heavily armored vril warriors, a sparse few humans, towering quaggoths, a handful of nervous svirfneblin, countless slaves and other creatures of mixed heritage, dwarves, derro, and more. The place was a cacophony of different languages, haggling, and the like. Its smells were a mix of the horrific and the divine, thousands of different scents blending into a single one that could only be thought of as the Lower Web in aroma form.

Divaufein split off from them after a short while to go buy whatever it was that Sabafae had asked him to get—Inshalee couldn't really remember—leaving her alone with Zezdrin. She felt something different down here than her last visit, as though something was casting a pall over all this. She realized that the world she knew was dying, giving way to something else. She had noticed it most when she watched Despana's troops assemble—things did not feel as safe as they used to. Granted, she had seen violence on all sides of her for most of her life, but it was a familiar kind, something she understood. Now there were creatures wandering about wearing the flesh of people, mind flayers sending assaults on Yvoth-Lened itself...and some presence nagged at the back of her mind.

Her visits with Pellanistra seemed to signify that her friend felt whatever this was more strongly than she did. What phantasmal horrors visited the blue-eyed drowess in her sleep to change how she acted so? Despana's youngest daughter had been awake and in the halls at the strangest hours of the cycle, pacing restlessly or in the Chapel of Reverence praying.

Inshalee spoke up to distract herself from that train of thought. "Zezdrin, why are Pellanistra, Sabafae, and Yasmur'ss all so different from each other?"

"Masrak—the Matron's eldest son, that is—once told me the Despana family is like a great tree," the House Weapons Master explained. "It bears two kinds of fruit: the good and the bad. Pellanistra, Mayna, T'riss, and Masrak are and were the good kind. Yasmur'ss, Tebatar, Vornas, and Talra are the bad."

"And Sabafae?" Inshalee asked as Divaufein materialized from the crowd near them with a package.

Zezdrin bit his lower lip and thought a long time before answering. "By inclination, Sabafae is the worst of the bad—vain, cruel, arrogant, ambitious, and absolutely brilliant. It's only people like Pellanistra, Masrak and Divaufein who keep her from sliding into insanity and becoming that. I've seen what happens when she doesn't have them, and it's the kind of thing that makes my blood run cold."

Divaufein smiled a bit grimly. "Don't you worry, Priestess, we won't be leaving Sabafae to that any time soon," he said.

There was a flash and a surge from the center of Yvoth-Lened proper. "Did that just come from the Fane?" Inshalee said, staring. Without any other words to each other , the three drow took off towards the Upper Web at a sprint in unison.

* * *

"...absolutely," G'eldzar was saying absently. He wasn't even really listening to the person talking to him, watching the troops assembling down below. He had apparently given an order about what to do with supplies that he didn't really listen to, because the male drow saluted and took off. _Gods, what a mess. Another assault?_

Then all of a sudden there was someone else behind him, arms slipping around his waist. "G'eldzar," a very familiar female voice purred in his ear.

"Gah! T'riss!" he said, starting slightly. There was a laugh, and she let go of him so he could turn around to face her.

"I knew that would get your attention," the drowess said, crossing her arms as she smirked slightly at the masked male. "Seems to be the only way."

"You look altogether too pleased with yourself," he grumbled, grateful that his mask hid the slight darkening in his cheeks. That had been quite a bit different than what he was expecting from her.

"I had to get you back," she said. Four weeks had given her plenty of time to familiarize herself with G'eldzar, and he was noticing a tendency of hers to mess with him more the better she got to know him. They had been together for a meal more than once, though he hadn't actually eaten on those occasions. That might have required him to remove his mask, after all. "Anyway, the raid was a success. We have about a month's worth of rations from the thralls' food. It's not the best, but it's enough to live off."

G'eldzar winced. "Nothing quite like the bare minimum needed to survive," he said dryly.

"I sent a message to my house with some gnomes we found," T'risskacha said with a shrug, moving to where she was next to him, looking over the edge of the balcony. "I doubt they'll make it alive, but there's a slim chance. We need reinforcements badly—without them we have a week, maybe two left. That's if all goes well."

"Those are not words to take confidence in," the Vhaeraunite said dryly.

"No, I suppose not. I've been looking at the bodies of the thralls. The symbol of the Eater burned into their forehead is a bit concerning," the drowess said, something in her tone he hadn't heard before. "We kill one and it seems like a dozen more spring up in their place. Like the heads of a hydra. Once the Matron's reinforcements get here, it'll be easier. I know it will." _They have to come. Please, Goddess, let them find us before it's too late._

G'eldzar moved behind her, this time putting his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "T'riss, what do you really think?" he murmured in her ear, this time anything but teasing. The masked male drow rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, closing his eyes when he felt her hands cover his. For a long moment, they just stood there. Then, finally, it was the drowess who broke the silence.

"I think we're going to die," T'risskacha said very quietly.


	23. The Lion and the Viper

Of all the things Pellanistra had been expecting to do after the rite to the Spider Queen, restraining her mother was not one of them. She had always know the Matron as a calm, deliberating woman not easily swayed to any great depth of emotion. Unfortunately, that did not seem to be the case when Nedxae Hun'ett was involved.

"Mother!" Pellanistra cried, trying to snap her mother out of it. Sabafae had Mayna's other arm, pulling her bodily away from the goading Nedxae.

"Pella, Sabafae, let go of me," Mayna hissed.

"I really don't think that's wise," Sabafae said coolly, watching her younger sister struggle to keep their mother's hand away from her snake whip.

"You'd threaten me at the doors of the Fane?" Nedxae said with a laugh. "What happened to your famous self-control, Mayna?"

"I haven't forgotten what you did, bitch!" Mayna snarled, lunging for the other female. Pellanistra was almost pulled off her feet—she was surprised her mother still had the muscle to do that after years of being off the battlefield. "As soon as I get free, I swear to the Goddess I'll cut out your heart and feed it to your abomination of a son!"

"Now do you see why Yasmur'ss or I are at the ones who deal with House Hun'ett instead of her?" Sabafae said to her sister, voice a bit strained as she strove to pull her mother back.

"I'm beginning to understand," Pellanistra answered back. "What the hell did she do?"

"Nothing we're discussing here," Sabafae responded. She rolled her eyes and tried the rational approach again. "Mother, you really don't want to do this."

"Yes I really do," Mayna snapped. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll let go of me."

"Let her go, by all means," Nedxae said with a sly grin. Both of Mayna's daughters stared at the other Matron as though she was mad.

"Perhaps not," Sabafae said. Pellanistra started to move before her sister or mother even saw Nedxae's hands sketching patterns in the air, her lips forming a silent incantation. The blue eyed drowess placed herself in front of her mother, conjuring up a gleaming shield of divine energy.

The spells collided, and then something went horribly wrong.

The only thing Pellanistra could remember was a very bright light and then a surge that picked her up and hurled her at least twenty feet back. The next thing she knew, she was being frantically shaken awake by a male drow she didn't know. "Priestess!"

"...what?" she managed, shaking her head a little to clear it of the fog. That was a mistake—her head exploded in pain. She realized she must have cracked it on the stone, and not gently either. "Ah! Gods that hurts!"

The male drow slipped his arms around her and pulled her up whether she wanted to go or not. He could feel the wrongness seeping into this area like a toxin just as well as she could. Pellanistra turned her head to look at the source, eyes going wide.

There was a tear in midair there, with some horrific entity trying to force its way through, shadowy tendrils curling out through the gap. The air around this aberrant thing, too terrible to describe, shimmered and warped as though it was being viewed in a fun house mirror. She couldn't even manage to say anything, mouth opening and closing noiselessly until the male covered her eyes.

"Shothotugg," was all she managed once she could no longer see the gap, but the plunging depths of the darkness around it would haunt her for the rest of her life. The worst part was, she hadn't even looked upon the creature itself.

"You know what that thing is?" the male drow demanded, startled. "How do we stop it?"

"I don't know, but I think I'm willing to give it a try anyway," Pellanistra said, leaning heavily on him. The crack to the back of her head left her dazed and dizzy, but the male held her up easily.

"I'll help," he said, as bravely as he could manage. She smiled a bit woozily at the bravado in his voice, eyes closed tightly as she slipped her hand in his.

The mage raised his staff, keeping his eyelids pressed together as the power started to build between them, arcane and divine working in harmony through the conduit of their physical contact. In those brief moments, the two felt their minds brush ever so slightly. And then the combined force of their respective magics flashed out, a brilliant light searing the eyes of most of the drow in the city as it pushed the creature the growing shadows back and sealed the rift.

Pellanistra opened one eye hesitantly, then opened the other when she saw no tear. "It's gone?" she said, almost disbelieving.

The male drow shook his head. "It's still out there. I can feel it. Just not as close."

"Good enough," Pellanistra said, leaning against him again. The male drow released her hand, keeping an arm around her to help her in to the Fane. Her vision blurred into double,then back into single. "I think I'm going to be ill."

He sat down with her against one wall, talking to distract her from her headache for the quarter of an hour it took Sabafae to spot her. As soon as the male drow saw her sister, he stood up looking a bit nervous. "I should go," he said. "I've heard stories of Revered Sabafae, and she seems in anything but a good temper."

"What's your name?" Pellanistra asked, reaching up to grab his hand and stay him for a moment.

"Dhauneth. I'm certain we'll meet again, Priestess. Please excuse me," he said, giving a slight polite bow before slipping away.

"I hope so," she murmured, watching him go. He had been interesting conversation.

"Who was that?" Sabafae asked, raising an eyebrow.

"An acquaintance I just made," Pellanistra said.

"Up," her older sister said, hauling her to her feet. She murmured a quiet prayer, hand hovering over the back of her sister's head. Pellanistra felt a slight coolness back there, and then her head stopped hurting.

"Thank you," the blue-eyed drowess said, relieved.

"Zezdrin, Inshalee, Divaufein, and the Matron are all waiting outside. The Hun'ett witch isn't here, so we don't actually have to restrain Mother. She's just not in the best mood."

Pellanistra winced. "Probably best not to keep her waiting, then." She and Sabafae shared a look on the front steps of the temple, standing where the rift had been. They had both seen the gate, apparently, each making a silent vow to the other that they would never, ever speak of it.

* * *

T'risskacha was feeling a little less despairing at dinner than she had earlier on the wall top. G'eldzar helped, of course. When he was in a light mood, it was very difficult to feel depressed around him. She was becoming more and more curious about the mask, though. She hadn't ever seen him eat or take it off, even when they were supposedly having "dinner".

"G'eldzar, why do you wear a mask?" she asked suddenly, looking up from the goblet she had been toying with. That seemed to throw him off balance, but he recovered quickly.

"T'riss, really, I'm a follower of Vhaeraun."

"So are all of the other males in this city save the ones I brought with me. You're the only one I've seen masked other than his priests, and they remove theirs on occasion. I have never seen you without yours," the drowess pointed out.

"Perhaps I prefer it when no one knows what I look like," G'eldzar said, suddenly somber as he stroked the dark fabric in thought. It hid his entire face below the beginning of his cheek bones.

"Let me see your face," T'risskacha urged, setting the goblet aside.

G'eldzar's entire expression hardened. "Absolutely not," he said frigidly. "Why should you be any different than the others?"

T'riss looked almost as though she'd been slapped by that second comment for a moment before recovering her composure. Being refused a request didn't bother her nearly so much as the other half, and she just wanted to be away, safely ensconced in her own room. "Forgive me," the warrior said with a sudden coolness, rising abruptly and inclining her head with an almost mechanical politeness. "I have obviously erred. If you will excuse me."

"T'risskacha, stop," he said, rising from his seat and grabbing her wrist before she could leave. The male turned her around to face him, eyes contrite.

"Let go of me," she snapped, trying to twist free of his grip.

"T'riss, I didn't mean that," G'eldzar said urgently. "I'm not proud of what's behind the mask, so I tend to snap at anyone who wants to see it. I swear to you I didn't mean it. And I'm not going to let our last words to each other before the battle tomorrow be an argument."

Despana's third daughter took a deep breath, calming down. She laughed despite herself, shaking her head. "I've been hit by dozens of arrows and cut by countless swords, and the thing that hurts me the most is some off word from a Vhaeraunite. That's just wrong," T'risskacha said ruefully.

G'eldzar gave her a wounded look, teasing slightly. "I'm just 'a Vhaeraunite'? You injure me," he said.

"Cheeky bastard, aren't you?" she responded, prodding him.

He caught her hand. "As a matter of fact, yes," he said, the smile in his voice. It vanished. "You have to promise me that if I let you see my face, you tell no one else about it."

"You have my word."

G'eldzar closed his eyes and pulled down his mask. He was afraid of seeing her expression and getting the reaction he half expected.

The right half of the male drow's face wasn't too bad, generally unmarred except for the drow character for "O" branded on his cheek. _Og'elend. _Heretic. The left half however, was a mess. A web of scar tissue spanned across the lower half of his cheek down to the top of his throat. His jawbone itself had been broken and never healed correctly, instead fusing as it had been broken. One jagged end of shattered bone angled up into his mouth nerve endings still somewhat exposed even though it had scarred over. There looked to be a piece of metal still embedded in the old wound that hadn't quite been grown over yet, though the injury was obviously some decades old. T'risskacha could guess that his teeth on that side had been severely damaged, and his maxilla, the upper jawbone, was probably cracked.

G'eldzar opened his eyes when he felt her fingers on his face, moving over the scars without pressure so as not to cause him any additional pain. "I'm sorry," T'riss murmured. It didn't seem right that this had happened. She could only imagine the agony it caused him every time he tried to eat, to sleep, even to speak.

"Don't be," G'eldzar said with a crooked smile, the left half of his mouth pulled into a grotesque sort of frown by the scars while the right half curved up. "You didn't do this. Let's just say that my mother as a priestess of Lolth wasn't the most understanding woman. You know how rising house matriarchs can be."

"But this..."

"Is cruel? She was a cruel woman. She probably meant to kill me, but whatever god was paying attention at that moment in time didn't agree with that, apparently. I'm still not sure if it was Lolth's idea to spare me for her own amusement or if it was Vhaeraun who let me escape. Either way, here I am," he said with a touch of bitterness.

T'riss searched his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath, calming herself. She was angry—that someone had done this to him felt like a personal offense. "Who did this to you?" she asked.

"My mother, I told you," he said with a dry chuckle, watching her temper flare to life.

"No, her name. I want to know who to hate," the drowess said.

G'eldzar touched his forehead to T'risskacha's, smiling and shaking his head ruefully. "Shyntana Vae," he said. "If she still lives."

T'riss froze. _Matron Mother Shyntana Vae? The woman who rules Yvoth-Lened?_ Then she remembered the mace always at the woman's side, and the flange with the piece missing. She had a good feeling she knew where that piece was now—in G'eldzar.

Before she could say anything, however, the building gave a violent tremor, throwing her on top of G'eldzar. "What in the Goddess's name...?" she managed. _Another attack?_

"Earthquake," the male drow said, pulling up his mask and getting to his feet even as the earth pitched and rolled like the sea underneath their feet. "We need to get down below."

T'riss raced out of the door with him and started down the stairs as a great sickening crack echoed through above the sound of crumbling stone. She didn't see what it was until they made it to the courtyard. A huge fissure was expanding in the cavern roof above, webbing out like cracks in broken glass.

The sky was falling.


	24. Nothing is Forever

"There's too many," T'risskacha said, lowering the spyglass. Lights flickered distant in the open caverns around the city. The tremors had stilled, but right behind them had come the illithids' advance. She and G'eldzar were on the battlements observing. "The city is doomed."

The priest of Vhaeraun crossed his arms with a deep frown. "If we abandon it, they'll catch us without even a wall for defense," he said.

"Not if they're delayed...there's a chance. It'd be better than nothing," the drowess said, turning to him. "If it's done now. The thrall skirmishers will be here in an hour, maybe two. But a small force could turn them back while everyone else gets out—delaying the skirmishers would grant a clean escape. We have a solid four hours before the umber hulks could reach and break the line."

"I'll start picking out men," G'eldzar said, turning. He felt T'risskacha's hand on his arm and stopped.

"I will," she said quietly. "I only have a score remaining under my command. We will stay."

"Absolutely not," he said stonily, arms crossing again almost defensively. T'risskacha's resolve didn't seem to falter any, but she did look incensed by his objection.

"That wasn't a request. Either you can stand here and argue with me until the umber hulks batter down this wall, or you can focus on getting everyone else out of here safely," the noble said.

"There could be an—"

"There is no other way!" T'risskacha snapped. She took a steadying breath. "It would have to be either you or me. Without a commander with our experience, the soldiers would break, maybe even before the enemy made it to them. And the city needs you. There would be panic without your leadership. And you know the tunnels better than I."

G'eldzar nodded slightly, closing his eyes. He was frozen in place like a statue, listening to the silence stretch from seconds into hours. It felt like an eternity.

A hand touched his cheek lightly, and he heard T'risskacha sigh. "We all have to do things we don't want to do, G'eldzar," she murmured, leaning in and giving him a light kiss through the mask. "There are a lot of things we would change if we could. But right now, there's nothing you or I can do to make this anything but what it is."

"I'm sorry, T'riss," he said quietly, reaching up and taking her hand. He pressed her fingertips to his lips, wishing the cloth was gone. "It shouldn't be this way."

"I know. Now go, you have other people who need you," T'risskacha said with a wan smile. G'eldzar nodded again, reluctantly turning and walking down the steps. He didn't look back until he'd reached the main barracks, eyes on the lone figure on the walltop, isolated from the darkness by only a flickering brazier.

T'risskacha looked back towards the enemy camp. "Come," she whispered. "Bring everything you have. I will show you how a Despana dies."

* * *

The hours crept by like centuries as T'risskacha watched her soldiers fall around her. They turned back assault after assault, but it was only a matter of time before the walls were breached now that the umber hulks had arrived.

T'risskacha winced as she heard one strike the gates, the great metal doors shuddering under the onslaught. "They're going to give," the thin male drow supporting her said.

"Tell everyone to fall back," the female noble ordered, leaning against a slab of stone from the walltop as she tightened the hasty bandage around her calf. He nodded, taking off to find the others. The small squad with T'risskacha looked grim as they watched the gates tremble.

"What happens if they get in?" someone asked quietly.

T'risskacha forced a little smile, resting her head back against the cold basalt. "We fight them inside," she said, hair falling into her face like a curtain.

Silence stretched on for a long moment, broken only by the groan of the gates as the metal began to buckle. "Looks like we have our work cut out for us," a female voice said dryly. It was recognizably Vasae, T'riss's second in command.

There was an explosion as psychic energy struck the gate, shards of superheated metal and stone slicing through the air. The remains of the gate dripped down from the arch onto the stone, glowing pools slowly cooling. T'riss took a deep breath, the coppery scent of the air mingling with the smoke of burning stone. The great, shambling forms of umber hulks lumbered into the city.

"I thought we were falling back," Vasae said as T'risskacha drew her saber and limped forward.

T'riss turned back and paused to look at her lieutenant. "Can't just let them walk in without a fight."

The taller female shook her head slightly and followed with a wry grin. "Sometimes I think you got all of the Matron's obstinacy and none of the Patron's good sense," Vasae said, longsword in hand. The remainder of the squad slipped out from the rubble like ghosts, stalking forward to take out the lead umber hulk.

"Go for the legs. Try to get between the plates in its carapace," T'riss ordered softly before waving them forward. She watched with satisfaction as her soldiers surrounded the first of the creatures, one side baiting it forward or back by beating their swords against their shields while the other half lunged in and sliced at its weak spots.

Finally, the hulk stumbled and fell forward. T'risskacha limped in to help finish it off when she saw Vasae's face illuminated by the glow of the molten stone, features drawn into a wide-eyed look of panic. "T'riss! Behind you!" she screamed. The noble turned and threw up her sword in a hasty parry, trying to defend herself from the second umber hulk, wielding a roughly crafted blade.

There was a horrible snap and then a tearing, burning sensation. T'risskacha felt her feet leave the ground, only to have her back meet the stone about ten feet away. The noble's face contorted in agony, the world above her blurring together into a surreal mixture of light and shadow. She could see her saber just a yard or two away, sheared off maybe two inches above the hilt.

The sight that met her eyes when she looked down at herself inspired even less confidence. There was a ragged tear from the top of her left hip to the bottom of her lowest rib on the right side. She could see coils of intestine that had been torn through and partially out, accompanying a hole in the bottom of her stomach. A foul smell lingered in the air, and something that burned leaked out with the blood. T'risskacha grit her teeth together, bringing up her hands to hold in everything as she looked back towards her squad.

"Get them out!" T'risskacha screamed at Vasae. "Let the city burn!"

For a moment her lieutenant hesitated, and then she and the others were gone. The city belonged to the mind flayers, with the only the dead or soon to be remaining.

T'riss forced herself up, her armor hanging off her body in tatters. The noble staggered over to her broken sword hilt and slumped against the wall. With a wound like this, she could linger for days, but in the end death was inevitable. Even clerics had trouble treating gut wounds...the infections afterward claimed just as many lives as the wound itself. The noble had no intention of leaving this world without her sword in her hand, even if there wasn't much left of it.

She let her fingers close around the hilt of the saber, her other hand still keeping her insides on the inside as she let her eyes drift closed. She prayed to Lolth that they would just take her for dead and move on.

That was a prayer left unanswered, and perhaps unheard in this place.

_Is this one dead? _Mauve tentacles writhed against dark robes, bulging and blank white eyes meeting another pair. The two mind flayers towered over the barely conscious T'risskacha, discussing her.

_No. _The taller one bent down, gripping T'riss's chin and lifting up so that it could inspect her face. A tentacle reached down, gently pulling one eyelid up. The illithid released her, whirling around on its fellow with tentacles writhing in agitation. _This is the wrong one!_

_Impossible. She is a Despana-child, the young one. She carried a curved sword, _the first mind flayer said, shrinking back slightly from the other's rage.

_But not the youngest! Her eyes are wrong! Am I surrounded by incompetents? Kaaba couldn't get into the body of the guarding one, and you cannot find the right one! _The taller illithid raged on for several more moments, psychically browbeating the other. After its rage had cooled, it turned its attention back to T'risskacha. _Perhaps this hasn't all been a waste. Repair the structural damage and begin ceremorphesis. Then leave her where she will be found._

_By the masked ones?_ the first one queried.

_No. By the Matron on the war path. Perhaps the plight of her offspring will derail her long enough. _

_She will be an angry woman. This may speed her and the youngest child on their course._

_Unlikely_, the tall illithid sneered at its compatriot. _Now go, before this one dies._

T'risskacha's head lolled when she was picked up, but the drowess didn't stir beyond that. Her vision was too blurry to alert her to the future she was facing. Perhaps that was for the better.


	25. Closer Than We Thought

Pellanistra frowned slightly, her legs tucked underneath herself as she examined the map with Sabafae. Mayna was leaning back in her seat, a goblet of wine in hand. "The shore is a nice battlefield—even footing, tightly packed sand...but a pitched battle is not ideal," the Matron said. After the incident at the Fane, the entire city had agreed to mobilize and deal with this threat on the shores of the Sunless Sea. And now here they were, less than a day away.

"As a distraction, it has its uses," Sabafae said quietly, tapping a dagger against her chin thoughtfully. She touched the tip to where the mind flayer city was marked out. "Small force goes in and disrupts whatever's going on inside—organizing or what have you—while the rest of our army meets theirs out here. Head off the snake."

"That's how Zilthae cleared out Lagurno," Pellanistra said, stretching. She smiled when Zezdrin poked his head into the tent, but the expression faded off her face at the sight of pain in her brother's.

"Matron, we found T'risskacha. Yasmur'ss also caught a human spy in the same area," he said quietly.

Mayna's face seemed to light up—the anguish hidden in Zezdrin's expression didn't even register. "T'risskacha is alive?" she said, springing up and hurrying out. Sabafae and Pellanistra exchanged a worried look, following their mother.

Whatever joy Mayna had felt bled away in a moment when she stepped into the tent where her third daughter was laying. T'risskacha was laying on her side, shoulders shaking and trembling with the force of desperate sobs. Her hands were bound so that she couldn't hurt herself, but that didn't stop her from straining at the restraints to try. The right half of her face, especially her ear and right around it, had been clawed at until it was slick with blood.

"Mother," Pellanistra said softly, reaching out to touch the Matron's arm. Mayna pulled away, her expression lost and dreaming. She went over, undoing the restraints and catching T'risskacha's wrists in one hand as she pulled her daughter close.

"My...beautiful daughter..." Mayna choked out as T'risskacha stopped struggling and clung to her, stroking the younger female's hair. "Who did this to you?"

"She doesn't have much longer," Zezdrin said quietly, leaning down to speak in Mayna's ear.

"I will do it," Mayna said softly, looking up at her son. "Tell Yasmur'ss to have that human ready for me."

"Is that wise, Matron? In your anger—"

"Do it," the cleric hissed, something burning in her eyes. Zezdrin nodded, expression stony as he left his twin with their mother, herding Pellanistra and Sabafae away from the opening of the tent.

"Is T'riss going to be okay?" Pella asked, grabbing her brother's arm.

Zezdrin shook his head, giving his youngest sister a tight hug. "The mind flayers left a tadpole," he whispered in her ear. "The Matron needs this. Leave them be."

Pellanistra nodded her understanding, heart twisting at the idea of being without the sister that had been her first and probably best friend. She let Sabafae guide her away, eyes closed tightly.

Back in the tent, Mayna carefully drew her sacrificial dagger, resting it so that the point just barely touched the soft flesh under T'risskacha's chin. "When you were a little girl, you used to have the worst nightmares, T'riss. Do you remember?" she whispered even though she knew her daughter wouldn't be able to hear her. T'riss was too far gone now. "You wouldn't go back to sleep, and Sabafae would come and get me..."

Mayna lost her voice for a moment, closing her eyes and summoning up the resolve to do this. "And I would wait there until you fell asleep," she finished softly. "It's the same thing now, T'riss. I know this is a bad dream, but just give it a little while and it'll all be smooth sailing."

The Matron pushed, driving the dagger up as hard and fast as she could at an angle. This wasn't a time for shaky hands or second thoughts. T'risskacha twitched and then her limbs and jaw went slack, her torso shuddering still against her mother's arm. A dullness claimed the warrior's bright eyes, clouds shrouding the world in misty darkness.

Outside, Pellanistra jumped at the sound of a scream. It was so full of raw pain and anguish the young priestess couldn't even identify the source. Sabafae put a hand on her sister's shoulder. "That was Mother," she murmured softly in Pella's ear. "She will take apart that city stone by stone, with her bare hands even, whether it kills her or not."

"What will we do?" Pellanistra asked quietly, tears in her eyes. "T'risskacha is gone...Mother might as well be."

"We go with her. We do our job, serve our house. What we are supposed to do," Sabafae said with a sigh, sitting down on one of the rocks. "We get up every morning and pretend everything is fine because that is what the House needs from us. What Mother needs from us."

* * *

"What's been done to him?" Mayna asked in a murmur, looking over at the human slumped over in the chair.

"Zezdrin beat on him for a while," Yasmur'ss said with a shrug. "He needed to get out some aggression, and I wasn't there yet to stop him. Nothing else."

"And he was with T'risskacha?" the Matron said quietly.

"He seemed to find her state amusing, according to Zezdrin. I'm amazed he isn't dead," her eldest daughter answered. "Don't kill him too quickly, Matron."

"I'll do my damnedest," Mayna said stonily before going over.

The human man was a rough-looking sort with short, greasy hair and thick stubble. His clothes were rough, dirty and spattered with blood from his broken, swollen nose and split lip. He looked up, dark eyes glaring at Mayna. "Are you going to kill me now?" he growled in accented Undercommon.

Mayna smiled widely, teeth a bright white against her ebony skin. "Of course not," she said, almost amused. A darkness had claimed Mayna's heart, a spirit of cruelty beyond anything she had ever experienced before. "What kind of barbarian do you take me for? No, you and I are going to have a little chat. At the end of it, you are going to ask me to kill you. I will again say no. Shall we begin?"

It was hours before the screaming stopped.

Once silence fell, Yasmur'ss and Tebatar stepped into the tent warily. Mayna was there, washing off her hands in a basin. The spy was still in the chair he'd been tied to, his back to the door. "Do you want us to take him, Matron?" Yasmur'ss asked quietly, sensing her mother's mood was still very dangerous. She kept her tone soft and deferential, trying not to set off the older female.

"Yes. He answered my questions," Mayna said blankly, drying off her hands and walking out of the tent past them. "Don't kill him, Yasmur'ss. And don't have him killed, either. I want him to live."

"As you command, Matron," her eldest daughter said, dropping her gaze respectfully when her mother passed by her.

Tebatar went over to the human and turned the chair around. He went as pale as he could with his ebony skin, staring. He had seen a lot of corpses in his mother's wake, but never anything quite like this. "W-w-what h-h-happened to his face?" the male stammered. It hadn't been mutilated—it was gone. So were his eyes.

Yasmur'ss felt a slight admiration for her mother's finesse at that moment, impressed by how delicately the older female had done it and how she'd managed to keep her victim conscious. "I wonder why she put out both his eyes. I would have thought one would be sufficient," she said absently. "I think treading lightly around the Matron is probably wise. At least until her lust for vengeance is sated."

Tebatar nodded numbly, backing away and wiping off his hands. Yasmur'ss sighed. "Honestly, brother, your squeamishness is disappointing," she said, undoing the spy's restraints. Her dark, mirror eyes seemed more void-like than ever, emotion lost in their depths until none remained on the surface.

* * *

Meanwhile, Pellanistra sat numbly by T'risskacha's body, watching soldiers scrape together the materials for a proper funeral pyre. Nothing less would do for a Matron's daughter. Sabafae and Zezdrin were with her, silent. They saw Mayna sometimes, able to distinguish her from the army by the clear path she created and her armor.

The plate armor gave Pellanistra something to focus on. It was black like the places of _utterdark_ where light had never touched—not even at the dawning of time, black like the void between stars. Blacker than Mayna's ebony skin. She didn't understand why. Certainly, drow wore dull colors most of the time, particularly their armor. But all the plate she had ever seen in her life down here had been smoked, giving it a dull, dark, gray color that gave only the slightest reflection of light—if any. It blended with the stone. Her mother's armor never reflected anything. It absorbed the light and gave nothing back.

Sabafae leaned over, murmuring something softly in Zezdrin's ear before rising and departing. The priestess went in search of her consort. She could sense just as well as everyone else that battle was just around the next curve of the tunnel. Dimly, distantly, but still there was the faint roar of the Sunless Sea as it cast its waves up on the dark shore.

Zezdrin put his arm around his younger sister's shoulders with a sigh. "It'll be alright, Pellanistra."

"She's going to ask me to do it, Zezdrin," Pellanistra said.

"Hmm?"

"Mother. She's going to ask me to take the force inside the city," the young priestess said, looking up at him. "It should have been T'riss, but it'll be me. What if I can't do it?"

Her brother gave her a wan smile along with a one-armed hug. "You'll be fine, Pella. Just remember everything you've learned."

"I'm afraid."

The admission surprised Zezdrin. He looked over into Pellanistra's wide blue eyes, reminding himself of just how young she still was. She put on a brave face, carried herself as if she was older, but underneath she wasn't even a year older than a finishing Academy student. "We all are, underneath," the male drow said with a sigh. "Most of us are just too proud and vain to admit it. There's nothing wrong with being afraid, as long as it doesn't stop you."

Pellanistra seemed to think this over for a moment, contemplating her siblings' reactions to their own fear if it was really there like Zezdrin seemed to think. She frowned deeply. "Zezdrin, have you seen Talra?" she asked.

Zezdrin searched his memory. "Not since we left Yvoth-Lened. But I don't speak with her much anyway."

The young priestess lapsed into silence for a moment, mind almost stumbling through a line of reasoning. "Sabafae said she studied advanced magic once...I saw her at Arach-Tinilith a few times during my first year there."

"Yes, under Reverend Mother Zilvala before she disappeared," Zezdrin said absently. "I wrote her off as Yasmur'ss's crony some time ago, but she seemed different right before we left. More...focused."

_Your sister encouraged me to find my calling in the more...advanced levels of arcane magic. In my studies of the planes, I inadvertently encountered a portal to the Far Realms, and the dark beings of that plane, _Zilvala's voice whispered from the back of her memory.

"More focused?" Pellanistra muttered to herself, standing up and walking a few paces towards the south, staring down the tunnel to the Sunless Sea. She knew her half sister would be gone, nowhere to be found in camp.

For three years Lolth had been trying to push her in the right direction with nightmares, showing her visions of the thrall calling to the Eater. And all through that time she'd been too blind to see the way Talra was changing, the way she vanished for weeks at a time and found every reasonable excuse to slip away or simply not attend the rites of Lolth. How she'd stolen books from Sorcere and Arach-Tinilith and spent hours pouring over them. The last time she'd seen Talra at the Academy was the night Zilvala's notes and books vanished from her office.

Pellanistra bit her lower lip. "Talra, what have you done?" she whispered.


	26. Crossing the Rubicon

Pellanistra had already been awake for several hours by the time the camp began to stir awake. She laid on her back and looked up at the ceiling of the tent, thinking over everything. Zezdrin was right, she was sure. When it came time in the battle, she would do what needed to be done without flinching—for her mother. She knew she could do it.

And Talra...there Pellanistra faltered. She didn't know what to do as far as her half-sister was concerned. There had been no real enmity or even rivalry between them since Mayna had sent them to the different Academies. Talra was a shadow presence in her life, only older by a few years. Pellanistra's memories of her almost exclusively cast Talra as a distant, small figure behind the equally looming figures of either Yasmur'ss or Vornas.

She had asked about her half sister once, when she was at the Academy. It had been one of the meetings with Sabafae she wasn't supposed to have. Talra, according to Sabafae, had always been the ignored daughter. Vornas regarded her as a nuisance, Yasmur'ss treated her like a tool—though she did that to everyone, and everyone else ignored her completely. Talra drifted on the periphery of the family, never really getting to feel as though she belonged. Except to Malagzar. The Patron really did care for her, though Pellanistra doubted her sister knew it.

Maybe that was why Talra had found it so easy to turn to Zilvala's school of thought...because she felt as though she had nothing to lose.

Pellanistra sat up, donning her armor quietly. She didn't want to hurt her half-sister. Maybe there was something in Talra that could even be redeemed. The young priestess shook out her hair, watching it fall into her face in the small mirror she'd brought along. She couldn't help a bit of vanity now and again, and it was a small indulgence.

She paused, studying her eyes in the looking glass. Their color confused her. She'd never met another drow with her eyes. T'risskacha had always seemed to think they meant something—greatness, she said. But sometimes it seemed like a mistake...like the Goddess had missed her intended target by a generation.

The young priestess rose, tucking the mirror away in her bag and leaving those thoughts behind with some difficulty.

Her family was waiting in the tent shared by the Matron and Patron, the map spread out again. It was quiet, almost unnaturally so, when Pellanistra stepped in. Everyone was in their own thoughts. Yasmur'ss was thoughtful, Tebatar by her side looking afraid. Sabafae was to the Matron's right, her fingers meshed with those of her consort. For once she and Divaufein really looked close in public. Vornas and Zezdrin seemed more taken with the map than anything else, while Mayna stared at it as though it weren't there. Malagzar's hands were resting on her shoulders, but Pellanistra doubted her mother was even aware of her consort's presence. It was as though a wall separated the Matron from everyone and everything else.

"Matron, Pellanistra's here," Malagzar murmured, giving Mayna's shoulders a slight squeeze. It was enough to make the cleric look up.

"We have a battle plan," the Matron said, straightening up. "Pellanistra, you will take a small contingent of soldiers inside the city and disrupt. Bring down the elder brain, sabotage them, whatever you can to hinder and cut the head off the snake. Vornas will accompany you to assist."

"Yes, Matron," Pellanistra said respectfully, hearing her words echoed by her older brother just a moment later.

"Malagzar, you will take Tebatar and Zezdrin with you as well as half of our forces. We'll engulf the enemy and mire them down so Shyntanna Vae can cripple them. You three will be responsible for flanking them."

"As you wish, Matron," Malagzar said. Pellanistra could see concern in her father's eyes. The Patron always worried when he was away from Mayna in a battle. It was his job to make sure she stayed safe and alive.

"Sabafae will lead the assault with our half," Mayna said. "Yasmur'ss and I will support and bolster the troops."

"Matron, is that wise?" Sabafae said, that question audibly protesting the last order. Pellanistra noted the gleam in Yasmur'ss's mirror eyes with the same apprehension Sabafae was no doubt feeling.

"It is my command," Mayna said bluntly. "Understood?"

Pellanistra froze at the hidden steel in those words, studying her mother closely. One close look told her everything she needed to know. Mayna knew just as well as they did what Yasmur'ss would do if she got the opportunity—and it would certainly present itself with the battle plan how it was. Sabafae and Pella would be too far away to do anything, and the Matron knew it. She had intended it to be that way.

Sabafae's eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Yasmur'ss. The males in between them almost subconsciously shied out of the way. The older female smiled thinly, openly meeting Sabafae's gaze.

There was a sort of absolute certainty about that look, the blue eyed drowess acknowledged. There would be blood, sooner or later. Divaufein brushed his thumb across the back of the priestess's hand, trying to calm Sabafae down. He could sense her temper simmering underneath. The last thing everyone needed right now was a fight.

"Let's go, then," Mayna said, standing up. "We have a war to win."

* * *

"I don't like this," Sabafae muttered to her younger sister as they reached the shores of the Sunless Sea. The black waves whipped and tossed about until the crests foamed, smashing against the shore. The wind picked up, moaning through the tunnels like a wounded beast.

Pellanistra shivered a little as the chill cut through her armor, crossing her arms tightly. "Neither do I," she murmured before looking over at her sister. "This is where we part ways."

Sabafae hugged her sister tightly for a moment before pulling back. "Just in case, Pella," she said softly. She smiled sadly. "I might not get the chance to see you again."

The blue-eyed drowess smiled back, seeming as bright and cheerful as ever. "Don't say that. We'll be back in a tent at the end of today toasting each other and watching Mother rampage through the city scaring illithids out of their wits," Pellanistra said. Underneath the show she was terrified of dying, but this was the least she could do for Sabafae.

"Give them hell for me," Sabafae said with a laugh.

"Any day," Pellanistra said with a lazy, playful salute before she pulled away, a few squads of soldiers following her. She took a few steps before the doubt rushed back. She had sixty soldiers under her command. _I can't do this...I can't do this..._

The young priestess looked back and saw Sabafae waving to her. Further back, just emerging from the darkness, were her mother and father. Pellanistra waved to her older sister and took a deep breath. _But I have to._


	27. The Last

Sabafae waded back towards her mother and sister through the carnage, her left arm hanging by a thread. _Goddess...watch over Pellanistra,_she thought, glancing towards the illithid city. She stopped, sensing a brief lull in the battle.

Yasmur'ss felt it too, but did not hesitate. This was her chance. The noble drew her slim stiletto, stepping behind her mother. "I'm sorry, Matron," she said, the poisoned blade slipping neatly between Mayna's ribs and severing the aorta. "But this is my birthright."

Mayna's breath caught in a hiss, but there was no surprise on her face as she crumpled to the ground. Yasmur'ss smiled, allowing herself to revel in triumph for a moment before reaching down and lifting up her mother's circlet.

"Yasmur'ss!" Sabafae screamed, running despite her arm, sword in hand. Miraculously, the arm stayed attached.

"You must admit, sister, it suits me much more," Yasmur'ss said, lowering the circlet down to rest on her own brow. She reached down, pulling the poisoned stiletto out of Mayna's body. "And I am the eldest."

"I will die before bending a knee to you as Matron," Sabafae hissed, taking up a guard position with her longsword at the ready.

"That can be arranged," Yasmur'ss said smoothly, uncoiling her snake whip with her off hand. The battle stilled as the two sisters squared off, the eyes of Despana soldiers fixed on the figures.

There were no flashy moves when Sabafae stabbed and slashed with her longsword or Yasmur'ss whipped and brought the stiletto in a vicious arc. Their form was less than perfect after hours of fighting. It was two female drow trying to kill each other, plain and simple.

Sabafae stumbled, bringing herself in close to Yasmur'ss. The older drowess grinned, stiletto darting in for the priestess's throat. Sabafae turned so her left shoulder was stabbed instead, taking a step back and swinging from her hips with all of the strength remaining in her body. There was a noise like tearing silk, and Yasmur'ss's head rolled.

Sabafae's longsword slipped from limp fingers as the poison began to take effect, landing softly on the sand. The priestess fell to her knees as her sister's body hit the ground, reaching out to take the circlet from her sister's head. "I told you that your ambition would be the death of you," Sabafae whispered.

"Matron!" Soldiers converged on her, knowing that their only chance for survival rested with Sabafae now. The priestess felt herself lifted up by many hands, carried off the field as her vision went dark. The circlet was still clenched tightly in her fingers.

* * *

Pellanistra held her breath as they climbed one of the spiral stone staircases of the central building in the illithid city. She and her small group of soldiers had met surprisingly little resistance, most of the defenders gone to meet the drow forces outside their gates.

An eerie chanting filled the halls, but the blue-eyed drowess continued on, ignoring the dread that grew with every step towards it. She glanced back at the few soldiers with her, their faces set grimly to hide their own fear. "We disrupt the ceremony. I'll take care of the thrall leading it," she whispered before rounding the last portion of the stair well and coming out onto the ceremonial area on the pinnacle of the ilithid city's highest peak. Her breath froze in her throat.

Humanoid cultists formed a swaying circular chain around the black stone altar on a raised dais, their limbs blending together as their chant turned into a wordless moan of summoning, a dark gate swirling open in the air above the altar and the spreadeagled body of a deva, spikes of iron driven through its hands, ankles, and wings to pin it to the stone. The ribcage had been split and forced open to reveal a still-beating heart, but the celestial's screams were lost in the cries of the faithful. A sickly green, jagged, glowing piece of some glass-like substance had pierced the deva's heart, keeping her alive as it fed off her essence and called Shothotugg closer to the material plane.

Talra stood at the altar, hands raised, her eyes wide and her face contorted into a wicked, unnatural grin. Pellanistra couldn't hear her sister, but watched her intone the central incantation in syllables picked from the depths of the Abyss itself.

The blue-eyed priestess drew her sword, striding forward. She sliced at the flesh joining the two closest cultists, cutting herself an entrance to the circle. "Talra!" Pellanistra shouted over the noise. The murmur died down to a hum in the throats of the faithful, the break in the circle of cultists fixing itself as flesh rejoined to flesh. "Stop this! You'll destroy everything!"

Talra shrieked with laughter, turning around to face her sibling. Her pupils were pinholes, red irises unnaturally expanded. Her face was trapped in that demonic grin. "I know, I know, little Pella! I want to watch the world die!" she said, spreading her arms wide. "I'm so glad you could join me. Welcome to the planescape's last party!"

"This is madness," Pellanistra said, leveling her saber at Talra.

The arcanist grinned. "This is beyond madness, Pellanistra," Talra said, advancing towards her sister as though she didn't even see the sword. "But you would never understand. Can you hear the spheres of the Far Realms singing, sister? What beautiful music they make!"

"Help me stop this," Pella pleaded. "You'll die just as the world will."

"I know it," Talra hissed, still fixed in her rigor-mortis grin. The drowess had wasted away since Pella last saw her, almost skeletal. Twisting tendrils of darkness curled around the arcanist as she lapsed into hysterical laughter. "And you know the best part? You're causing this!"

"What?" Pellanistra asked, confused.

"It's because of you, you little bitch!" Talra shrieked, still laughing. "It was written aeons ago, before this plane even existed! But the outer realms knew. Shothotugg chose you just as he chose me! The same voices whispered dark things in our ears when we were small. You drawing breath brings him across the veil just as much as my magic does!"

"That's a lie!" Pellanistra lunged without thinking, driving her saber through Talra's midsection. The Thrall of Shothotugg screamed, transfixed for a moment, but then the cry turned into a sound of ecstasy.

"Oh, do it again, Pella! It feels so good," Talra breathed with a sickening grin, grabbing her sister's sword arm and forcing the blade further through her own body. Pellanistra let go of her weapon, revolted. She moved over so that the altar was to her back.. Meanwhile, Talra grabbed the hilt of her sister's saber and ripped the weapon free, bleeding heavily but apparently unaware of this.

"I know a lot about pain, Pellanistra. I want to share it all with you!" Talra said, driving the blade through Pellanstra's sword hand, pinning it to the altar even as the saber broke. Pellanistra bit back a scream as the blade hit her median nerve. Her thumb rotated inward and curled in response to the wound. Talra had struck so hard that the bones running through her palm and wrist were broken.

The young priestess bit her lower lip until it bled to manage the pain, then pulled her hand free, the blade slicing its way out through the soft flesh between her thumb and pointer finger. She forced herself up, leaning against the altar. She reached back, finding the glowing, wavy, knife-like shard of glass.

"I'm not going to kill you, Pella, don't worry," Talra said, resting the jagged tip of the broken saber against the soft flesh just below Pellanistra's right eye. "I need you still."

"To bring the Eater across the void?" Pellanistra murmured, her fingers closing around the glass. It felt unnatural, as though shaped for a hand entirely unlike a drow's.

"Exactly," Talra said with a shrieking laugh, dragging the blade down her sister's cheek, laying it open to the bone. Pellanistra ripped the blade out of the deva's heart, casting a quick healing spell on the celestial as she fell back onto the blood slicked altar herself. The deva's ribcage knitted back together, the only sign of the wound a vivid scar over her heart. Her wings, hands, and ankles still had bloody holes in them.

"Shothotugg!" Pellanistra screamed up as the roar of extraplanar wind threatened to drown out everything else. She looked up into the dark opening, staring into the face of the Elder Evil and the eternity of the Far Realm. In that split second, she could see Forever.

Pella brought the strange knife down towards her own chest with both hands, driving the blade through her sternum and into her heart. Talra shrieked in agony, hands covering her ears as a scream rippled through the fabric of the universe and the Weave itself, the bridge to the Far Realms and Shothotugg crumbling into dust.

For a brief instant, the world stopped. Blue eyes gazed now into unseeing oblivion. So passed Pellanistra Despana, daughter of Ilharess Mayna, descendant of the Demon Queen herself.


	28. A Matron's Judgment

Zezdrin limped through the remains of the army camp, the mind flayer crumbling into the Sunless Sea in the distance. The death toll from what he had seen was horrible—the drow forces had been decimated. This was a bittersweet victory, particularly for House Despana, who had taken the largest number of casualties.

The Matron's tent was almost completely empty, only Divaufein and Tebatar there to meet Zezdrin. "What happened to everyone?" the Weapons Master asked through cracked and dry lips. "We were all to meet here again."

"Malagzar is dead," Tebatar said, his face etched with exhaustion. "As are Matron Mayna and Yasmur'ss. We have no word from Vornas or Pellanistra, but if they're in that city still..." There was no need to finish that statement—everyone had seen the towers that were alight with unnatural energies begin to crumble.

"What of Sabafae?" Zezdrin asked. All he could see in front of him was the civil war that would break out and claim all of their lives if House Despana had no female heir to take power.

Divaufein motioned to the curtain that had been drawn, creating a small partition in the tent. "Back there," Sabafae's consort said quietly. "The healers have done their best, but they're not sure that she will wake. She was badly wounded even before she was struck with a poisoned blade. The House doesn't know of her condition yet—the last thing we need is ambitious matriarchs trying to finish her off."

Tebatar inwardly cursed his deceased twin for her poisons. They needed a Matron, and Yasmur'ss couldn't help with her head no longer attached to her torso. But out of spite, she might just have ensured that Sabafae would never take their mother's place either.

Zezdrin sank down into a seat, closing his eyes. "Goddess..."

The tent flap opened up as Vornas came stumbling through, supporting a bloody Talra. They both looked horrible. "There you two are," the House Wizard mumbled, helping his half-sister to a seat before falling into one himself.

"Where's Pellanistra?" Divaufein asked. It was the first thing he could think of.

Vornas was so beaten and tired from their flight out of the city that he hardly processed the question. "Outside, with Mother and the others," he said with a gesture towards the door of the tent.

Divaufein and Zezdrin both stood up, going outside to look. Pellanistra was there as Vornas had said, but not in the way they had all hoped. She was laid out with the others of the family that had died, face still and peaceful as though she were sleeping. Like this, it was easy to see how young, how close to a child Pella had really been.

"House Despana has much to mourn," Divaufein murmured. They were drow. There would be no tears for the fallen, no lamentation. Just hushed voices, despairing thoughts, and prayers to Lolth for the dead.

They returned to the tent to find Tebatar with his sword drawn. "You brought back that snake?" the male drow hissed, leveling his blade at Vornas.

"Talra is no snake. Just a fool, fumbling in ignorance, who touched the surface of something she didn't understand," Vornas said. "She thought she could control it."

"This is her doing!" the male drow snarled. Tebatar was not a complicated man, and not a particularly thoughtful one either. With Yasmur'ss gone, he had no one to guide him. And so he looked for someone to blame.

Talra was silent, saying nothing in her own defense. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. "Tebatar, this isn't the answer," Zezdrin counseled. "We don't know everything that happened."

"She was in the mindflayer city! What other explanation do we need?" The warrior was advancing towards Talra, rage glittering in his eyes. "Just because Pellanistra couldn't kill her doesn't mean I shouldn't! Someone has to pay for this!"

"That...is...enough," a voice said quietly, from behind him.

Divaufein felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Sabafae!" He rushed over to support her swaying form.

The priestess was still clearly in the grip of her fever, but she'd mustered the will to wake, stand, and speak. Her armor had been stripped off so they could bind her mangled arm to her side and treat the other wounds she'd acquired. But she was wearing the Matron's circlet, a gesture that ensured everyone knew just how much power she commanded.

"She deserves to die," Tebatar growled fiercely. "She's not even Despana blood anyway."

"Be still!" Sabafae snapped. Her brother fell silent with a sullen expression. "_I_ am Matron. Talra, you will receive judgment in front of the House. What you have done is not in question—what you deserve is. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Matron," Talra said softly, everything in her posture submissive.

"You will remain here until I send for you," Sabafae ordered. "Tebatar, Zezdrin, Vornas—go assemble the House. Divaufein, will you please help me outside?"

The new Matron's consort guided her to a seat out of the tent while her brothers scrambled to get the House together. "How are you?" Divaufein asked softly, touching her good hand.

"How would you be in my place?" Sabafae replied dryly, leaning against him. "I shouldn't be Matron—Mother wanted Pella to succeed her. Everyone knows it. And everyone is dead..."

"We're here," he said in a hushed voice, watching the camp start to form up. "We will have to keep going without them."

"I know."

It took only half an hour for order to be restored to the remains of House Despana. They'd lost a great portion of their force, but not enough to put them in jeopardy of falling to some upstart house. Once they were assembled, Sabafae let Vornas explain what had happened and sent for Talra. As she promised, judgment would be passed in front of the house.

Talra was a small, lonely figure that looked as frail as a twig in winter before her older sister and all of Despana. Her time away from the house as the thrall of Shothotugg had not been kind to her.

"Talra Halarra dal Malagzar of House Despana, you stand before us charged with high treason and heresy. Do you contest these charges?" Sabafae said coolly. She had to give her half sister a chance, as small as it was, to claim innocence. Part of her wished Talra would—enough of their family was dead and waiting to be cremated.

"I do not, Matron," Talra said, looking down at the sand.

"Do you have anything at all to say in your defense?" The mood of the crowd was quickly turning ugly. They would want blood for this.

"I do not, Matron."

Sabafae sighed. "So be it. Your crimes warrant not death, but the punishment of living with the knowledge of what you have done. Talra, you are sentenced to exile from the Vault of the Drow on pain of death. In the eyes of the drow, you are now a dead woman and will conduct yourself in all affairs accordingly. I surrender you now to the justice of the Spider Queen. Go from here, and never return," the new Matron commanded coldly. It was clemency, and at the same time a crueler punishment than death on Lolth's altar.

Talra turned and walked away into the darkness, alone and unmourned. She would not be seen again within the Vault of the Drow.

* * *

Many miles away, G'eldzar and his people broke through to the surface. It was night, and the shimmering veil of stars was alight with the glow of a comet burning its way across the sky. "What is that?" one of his lieutenants asked, pointing up at the new sight.

"I don't know...some kind of strange star? They say on the surface that it is a harbinger, an omen of some kind," G'eldzar said with a sigh. T'risskacha had not come—and most likely never would. "What does it matter?"

"As you say, my Lord. Where should we go from here?" the man asked.

"We aren't far from Cormanthyr. I think we can seek shelter with some of Eilistraee's followers if we watch our words, at least until everyone has healed. Then we will return to the Underdark," G'eldzar ordered.

The masked Vhaeraunite cast one last glance back into the darkness of the tunnel. _Be well, T'riss. You and all your House._


End file.
